


Les Liaisons Ridicules (Ridiculous Liaisons)

by JungleKitty



Series: Kirk/Brandt Cycle [1]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 10:15:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21135074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JungleKitty/pseuds/JungleKitty
Summary: (c) 2000 Jungle Kitty. Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. It is #1 in the entire series, and part of the Academy Stories (2250-2254).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (c) 2000 Jungle Kitty. Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.
> 
> This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. It is #1 in the entire series, and part of the Academy Stories (2250-2254).

"There's nothing wrong with you that hasn't gone wrong with every other human male since the model first came out."  
\- James T. Kirk, "Charlie X"

Brandt crossed the common, her eager steps sending the dry leaves flying. Ahead, she could see Gary Mitchell seated on a bench under the centermost tree. Since her return from a three-week training cruise the night before, she'd had little opportunity to speak with her friends except for quick conversations between classes. She'd had to turn down an invitation to have lunch with Kirk and Mitchell because of a scheduled meeting with her adviser, but Mitchell had suggested he meet her after her last class. There had been no time to find out why Kirk wouldn't be there, but she was sure that Mitchell would catch her up on everyone's news.

As she approached the bench, she saw that he had thoughtfully provided food.

"Welcome back. How'd you do on the Magellan?" he asked as he tossed her a paper-wrapped sandwich.

"Great. I got to do an entire shift at navigation." She beamed proudly, pleased that Gary had provided an opportunity for her to brag a little. Damn few midshipmen even made it onto the bridge during their first training cruise. "What's new around here?"

She unwrapped her sandwich and lifted the top piece of bread. Instead of the synthesized mystery meat she'd been expecting, she was relieved to recognize ham and swiss.

"Well, let's see," Mitchell said. "I've been appointed Red Squad Leader for next week's war games."

"Congratulations!"

"Thanks. What else? Oh. Jim and I almost failed an inspection because Finnegan filled our shower with popcorn."

"Popcorn?"

"He covered the floor with kernels and turned on the sonics. When we got to our room, the sides of the stall were puffed out like JiffyPop."

"That stuff they banned a few years ago?"

"The very same. We had a hell of a time cleaning it up."

"I wish I'd seen that!" Brandt chortled appreciatively.

"Me, too. We could have used an extra hand."

"Oh, I wouldn't have helped you clean it up. I would have just stood there and laughed. How's Marguerite?"

Although Brandt was just asking to be polite, she couldn't help enjoying the way Gary's chest puffed out at the mention of the curvaceous redhead who had been his steady since early spring. The quiet USF literature major seemed like a strange match for the boisterous Mitchell, but Brandt imagined that Marguerite hadn't chosen him for his literary insights, a suspicion that was confirmed by his leering response.

"Hot. Very hot."

"That's not what I meant."

"Oh. Well, she's fine. Want me to set you up with her brother?"

"No, thanks. Anything else going on?"

"They finished the upgrades on the synthesizers and now the food tastes worse than ever. That's why I got the sandwiches from the deli. Consider it your welcome home. And Jim has a new girlfriend."

Brandt saw him watching her as he bit into his sandwich and resolved not to give him the satisfaction of being peppered with questions.

"He always has a new girlfriend," she said nonchalantly.

"This one's different."

"What's so different about her?"

"See for yourself. Here they come."

He nodded toward an approaching couple who were backlit by the low afternoon sun.

Brandt shaded her eyes but couldn't make out any details. A small woman with a better than average figure and a lumpy head--no, that was her hair--was walking arm-in-arm with Kirk. She wore a long, flowing dress--where were they going, the Admiralty ball?--and the tails of a cape flapped in the autumn breeze. Brandt would have conceded that she was graceful, except she seemed to be having trouble navigating the lawn. High heels! Sheesh. Brandt couldn't decide which was worse--wearing the heels because she enjoyed impractical footwear or wearing them so she could use her clumsiness as an excuse to cling even more tightly to her escort.

Finally, they were close enough for Brandt to see her features--saffron blonde hair shining with lacquer, a vacuous smile buttressing two pink chipmunk cheeks and displaying teeth as uniformly white and even as Tri-Chiclets, eyes as crystal blue as a freshly skimmed swimming pool, and eyelashes as black as the sludge in recycling that no one liked to think about.

Kirk lowered his head and said something to his companion, whose expression turned to one of wonder and adoration.

"Jim, daaarling!" she cooed.

Brandt choked on her sandwich, which resulted in Kirk greeting her by pounding her on the back.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes!" she croaked. "Stop hitting me."

She looked around for a napkin but Mitchell had neglected to provide any. She was about to wipe the spittle off her chin with her sleeve when a small hand proffered a delicate handkerchief.

"Here. My name is Ruth. And you must be Susan."

"Suzanne," Kirk corrected her gently.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I would have remembered, but Jim always refers to you as Brandt. Until I asked him, I'm wasn't sure he even knew your first name." She laughed lightly.

Brandt looked levelly into warm, ingenuous eyes and said, "Thank you for the handkerchief."

"Please keep it."

Ruth greeted Mitchell and asked if she could sit with him and Marguerite at the baseball game on Saturday.

"Marguerite won't be there. But sure, I'll welcome the company."

"And don't forget about Suzanne," Ruth added graciously.

Kirk laughed. "She'll be out on the field with me, won't you, Brandt?"

"That's right. I'm the catcher."

"Oh!" Ruth seemed a little taken aback. "Well, that's wonderful. But isn't it frightening? I've seen Jim pitch and if I saw something coming toward my face at that speed, I'd be scared to death."

"Scared? Her? Not a chance," Mitchell drawled and Brandt realized he was enjoying her disgruntlement. "Besides, she wears a mask. But you wouldn't mind a broken nose, would you, Brandt?"

"No, but I bet you would, pretty boy."

Mitchell laughed and pounded a couple of noogies on Brandt's head until she broke free of his grasp. Then, eyeing Ruth with something that could have been mistaken for admiration, he said, "That's some dress, Ruth. Are you going somewhere special?"

"Oh, no, I just got through at work. I have to change before we go out tonight."

"What do you do?" Brandt asked.

"I'm a lab technician."

"Really. What kind of lab work do you do?"

"I do makeovers for the Laboratorie de La Belle Femme. Daddy thought I should get some experience in 'the real world,' so he got me this job."

"Well, we have to move along," Kirk said. "Ruth wants to see the arboretum."

"Wait a minute." Brandt stopped them. "Your father got you a job at a makeup counter?"

"Daddy is La Belle Femme." Ruth giggled behind her flawless manicure. "He hates when I say that, but it's true. By the way, you have lovely skin. Do you use anything special?"

"Whatever I can cadge from my roommate." Brandt shot a quick glare at Kirk and Mitchell. "And don't tell Fig--she thinks her stuff is evaporating."

"Come to the store sometime," Ruth said. "I'll give you all the free samples you can carry. I'm there on Tuesday afternoons."

"Ruth," Kirk interrupted, "we really should get going."

"It was very nice meeting you, Suzanne."

"Same here."

"I'll be there on Saturday to cheer you on." She raised her fist--thumb inside the fingers--and smiled toothily as she said, "Rah!"

"Rah!" Mitchell replied enthusiastically as he punched Brandt in the shoulder.

Brandt faked a friendly laugh and punched him back. "It's just an exhibition game. Fall ball."

Seeing Ruth's puzzled expression, Kirk explained, "To keep us from getting rusty."

"Oh. Well, I'll be cheering for you anyway."

Giving Brandt a friendly jostle, Kirk said, "It's good to have you back."

"Thanks, JT."

"I've kept notes for you. I'll drop them off tonight."

"Jim, darling," Ruth cajoled, "We're going to my cousin's concert tonight, remember?" She proudly explained to Brandt and Mitchell, "He's making his debut as concert master with the North American Symphony."

Kirk shrugged apologetically in Brandt's direction. "Tomorrow at breakfast?"

"Fine," Brandt said, her heart sinking at the thought of trying to absorb three weeks' of material in one hour.

"Oh, Suzanne, don't look so glum," Ruth said sympathetically. "All your teachers know you've been on a cruise, don't they? They couldn't possibly expect you to be caught up by tomorrow."

"She hasn't met Commander Luce, has she?" Brandt asked with barely concealed contempt. "He'll expect me to be caught up yesterday."

Ruth clucked her tongue in commiseration and turned an adoring gaze up at Kirk. "I don't know how any of you do it."

I'm sure you don't, Brandt thought, wondering if Kirk would still give her his notes if she said it aloud.

Curling his hand around Ruth's, Kirk gave her a smile that made Brandt mentally review a list of other people from whom she could get the class notes.

"Jim darling, we really should get going."

"Of course."

Ruth turned to Brandt and Mitchell long enough to say, "See you Saturday!" Then she slipped her hand into the crook of Jim's arm, saying, "I'd love to go on a cruise sometime. They're so romantic. I think it's wonderful that the school takes care of your social life like that."

"Ruth, it's not that kind of a cruise," Kirk explained gently as they started in the direction of the arboretum.

"What other kind is there?"

And then they were blessedly out of earshot. Mouth agape, Brandt turned slowly toward Mitchell.

"Well?" he asked, grinning in malicious expectation.

"Oh my god," she whispered in an awestruck tone. "Kirk's dating a cupcake."

Over Mitchell's laughter, she continued.

"Did you see all that makeup? I've seen shielding that wasn't that heavy. And that drippy voice! 'Jim daaaarling.' Stop laughing! She's horrible. He must be blind!"

"She's not that bad."

"How did he meet her?"

"I introduced them."

"What!"

"He was driving me crazy. Commander Finney is so impressed with him, he's letting him teach that history class he tested out of. He went mad with power. 'Can you support that theory, Mr. Mitchell?' I had to do something."

"So you invented a device that turned his brain to mush?"

"No, I found the right weapon and aimed it at his weak spot. It's too bad that third-class midshipmen aren't eligible for the tactical medal."

"Can I assume that she'll self-destruct as soon as you pass the class?"

"Nope, sorry. My plan didn't include that contingency. Besides, Jim likes her. A lot. In fact, I think this could turn into something serious."

"Don't be silly, Gary. These things never last with him."

"He's goofy about her. He's hardly looked grim at all lately. He walks around smiling . He daydreams ."

"Jim?"

"Jim."

"I'm sure you're exaggerating. She'll be a memory by mid-term."

"Care to put some money on that?"

"If I had any, I would. It would be like taking candy from a baby."

"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?"

"Do the math, Mitchell. We've known him almost exactly a year, and in that time--" She paused as she calculated. "--he's had six girlfriends, not counting whatever he did during summer break. And they were all serious. Over a ten-month school year, that's a new girlfriend every one-point-six months--"

"Well, if it isn't Ned the Wonder Horse."

"When did he start seeing her?"

"Right after you left for the Magellan."

"So she's nearly halfway there already. Trust me, in six weeks, Jim will be sweeping up the cupcake crumbs with somebody else."

***

When Mitchell and Ruth arrived at the ballfield on Saturday, she was crestfallen to learn the reason the seats are called bleachers and they missed the first inning due to an emergency trip to purchase sunscreen. When they returned, Kirk was stepping onto the pitcher's mound and as they settled into their seats, Ruth gushed, "Oh, doesn't Jim look cute in his outfit!"

Mitchell excused himself to get a beer and, upon his return, he was treated to a commentary unlike any he'd ever heard at a sporting event.

"Poor Suzanne, getting her hair all crushed under that hat! ... Ewww! Jim isn't actually going to drink out of the same bottle everyone else has been using, is he? ... Doesn't Suzanne realize how it looks when she squats down like that? ... Spitting?!? I think they should lose points for that. ... Oh, look at Jim swinging the bats! What a darling!"

But five innings and three beers later, he was completely oblivious to her chatter and actually enjoyed the way she bounced up and down when Kirk scored.

He only wished Brandt were there to see it.

***

After the game, they found Kirk and Brandt down on the field arguing over who had been in whose territory when they'd collided halfway between the pitcher's mound and home plate in pursuit of a pop fly.

"Look, I'm the catcher! That means it's my job to catch."

"Fine! The next time a ball is about to plop down on top of me, I'll just wait for you, shall I?"

"I called it!"

"I called it first!"

"No, you didn't--"

"All right," Mitchell interrupted. "Neutral corners, you two. You can argue about it later."

Ruth kissed Kirk on the cheek and said, "I thought you were wonderful. Oh, and you, too, Suzanne."

"Thanks," Brandt said flatly. "I'm going to get cleaned up."

"Me, too," Kirk said.

"Gosh, Jim, I wish you wouldn't," Mitchell simpered. "You look so cute in that outfit."

Kirk gave him a puzzled look and said, "Shut up." He turned to Ruth. "He hasn't been too annoying, has he?"

"Gary is a perfect gentleman."

"That's right, kid. I didn't belch once all afternoon."

"Turning over a new leaf, Gary?" Brandt asked. "Does this mean we'll no longer be treated to you belching the alphabet?"

"I'm working on the periodic table. Listen--h!drogen, h!lium, l!thium---"

Ruth looked appalled, Brandt brayed with laughter, and Kirk cuffed Mitchell sharply.

"Knock it off!" he ordered.

"You thought it was funny in the chem lab!" Mitchell protested, rubbing his head.

"Well, it's not funny now."

"All right, sorry."

"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Ruth."

" And Suzanne," Ruth interjected sternly.

"Ladies, my humblest and deepest apologies."

"Gary, I thought it was funny," Brandt chuckled.

"That's why I love you, Brat."

He grinned and reached for her, but Brandt evaded the incoming noogies and said, "I'm hitting the shower."

"Make it snappy. If we hurry, we can get a booth at Freddie's before it fills up. Jim? You and Ruth coming along?"

Kirk looked at Ruth who sweetly smiled up at him.

"Sure, count us in," he said.

"I can't go," Brandt moaned. "I've got to review the notes on quantum field theory. Dr. Memkata has scheduled a special session for me tomorrow and he'll have my ass if I'm not ready. And Kirk, those notes of yours aren't exactly--"

"I know, but he was going so fast that I couldn't get everything down."

"Well, it's an all-nighter for me. Bring me a burger, will you?"

"Jim darling," Ruth said. "It would be a shame for Suzanne to have to study all night. Why don't you stay and help her?"

"But--"

"Gary can see me home."

"But--"

"Now, now," Ruth scolded as she took his hands and swung them from side to side. "It won't hurt you to go without a goodnight kiss just this once. And I'm sure Suzanne would help you if you needed it."

Surrendering willingly, Kirk said, "You are so sweet. Isn't she sweet?"

"The sweetest," Mitchell agreed. "Right, Brat?"

Before Brandt could reply, Ruth said, "Oh, stop! You'll make me conceited. I already love being fussed over too much."

"How can anyone resist fussing over you?" Kirk asked as he leaned into her.

Watching them kiss, Brandt rolled her eyes at Mitchell. "Wake me when it's over."

Laughing, Mitchell said, "Break it up, lovebirds! Our resident cynic has hit her limit."

Kirk scowled at Brandt. "I want to be around when you fall in love."

"I don't," said Mitchell. "She'll want us to clean up the mess after she devours her mate."

"You boys are just awful!" Ruth scolded. "Don't mind them, Suzanne." Her expression softened as she put her hands on Kirk's shoulders. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon." She pecked him lightly on the cheek and after congratulating him on a "good game," she leaned into Suzanne and whispered, "And he was in the wrong place for that catch."

After crinkling her nose in girlish conspiracy, she took Mitchell's arm.

"Hey, Gary!" Kirk called after them. "Take her straight home, you hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah."

As Brandt and Kirk started off toward the locker rooms, she said, "Thanks, JT. I'm sure this isn't your idea of a fun Saturday night."

"What do you mean? Going over quantum field theory and eating food out of a synthesizer? It's hard to imagine anything more exciting. Besides, it will give me a chance to draw you a detailed diagram of exactly where the catcher's territory ends."


	2. Chapter 2

For the next two weeks, Mitchell's main source of entertainment was Brandt's stubborn refusal to acknowledge that her estimation of the Cupcake's shelf life might have been faulty despite all evidence to the contrary. He made it a point to ask Kirk about their plans whenever Brandt was around and he could hardly believe she didn't pick up on what he was doing. But just the mention of Ruth's name seemed to blind her to all other considerations.

"This is getting ridiculous!" she griped after Kirk ducked out of an after-class party to help Ruth pick out flowers for a charity luncheon. "Every time I see him, he's either with Ruth, has just left Ruth, or is on his way to Ruth."

"I find it very interesting," Mitchell said as he took her empty mug and held it under the keg's spigot. "Who would have thought the tomcat would be housebroken so easily? This is starting to look permanent."

"Don't be silly, Gary. She's got two more weeks at the most."

"I wish you had money to bet on that." He handed her the brimming mug, took his own from her, and they made their way across the crowded terrace until they found an empty spot at the railing. Turning his back on the lush arboretum below, Mitchell tapped his glass to hers and said, "And speaking of money, you really missed a golden opportunity last night. Kirk and Durant weren't in the game. You might have won a hand."

Wide-eyed with shock, Brandt sputtered, "Now he's missing poker games? This is too much! Next thing you know, he'll be late with an assignment! He might even skip a class!"

"Whoa whoa whoa!" Mitchell wrapped his hands around her mug, halting the emphatic gesturing that was on the verge of splattering two nearby upperclassmen. "Drink first, then rant."

She gulped down the rest of her beer and continued in a slightly more moderate tone. "I think as his friends, we have an obligation to--"

"Forget it. You're not roping me into any evil plan to exterminate the Cupcake. All last year, you kept saying the Kid needed to loosen up. Now he is. And it wouldn't hurt you to let go a little, either. Why don't you get Fig to take you to wherever she preys on unsuspecting longshoremen?"

"I don't have time for that. Look what showed up this morning." She dug a data wafer out of her pocket and waved it in his face. "Thanks to JT, I did so well in warp physics last year that I've been appointed lab proctor."

"Oh, those poor plebes!"

"If I don't get someone to switch with me weekend after next, I won't be going on the camping trip!"

"I bet Durant would do it. Doesn't he still owe you for last year when you set him up with Zelli?"

"Yeah...Durant...Good idea. How'd he do in warp physics?"

"Do you care?"

"Not really, but as a good lab proctor, I had to ask." After a thoughtful pause, she said, "He passed, didn't he?"

"As far as I know."

She drained her glass, scanned the area until she sited her prey, and set off at a determined pace. "Hey, Durant!"

Laughing quietly, Mitchell promised himself he'd make it up to Durant later. But at least it distracted her from the anti-Cupcake campaign. And--

Wait a minute...If the Brat wanted to have a catfight with the Cupcake, well...

He only hoped there was a mudpit nearby when it happened.

***

A week later, Brandt burst into the quarters shared by Kirk and Mitchell and hurried to the desk where Kirk was staring at the computer monitor.

"Is the game on tonight?" she asked excitedly.

Without looking up, Kirk made a quick note on his padd and said, "2100. You in?"

She pulled a credit disk out of her pocket and held it in up, happily pointing to the bright blue indicator.

"My allowance came in." She sat on the edge of the desk and watched as Kirk rose and went to the bookshelves.

"Good," he said. "I could use some extra walking-around money."

"Dream on, Kirk. Durant's been coaching me."

"Did he tell you I chew my tongue when I'm bluffing?" he asked as he pulled a book off the top shelf.

"Yep."

"I paid him to do that."

Mitchell came out of the bathroom, displaying his bare chest above sharply creased khaki slacks.

"Oh, Mitchell!" Brandt sing-songed, waving her credit disk. "Look what I have!"

"Let me see that." He took the disk from her and examined it. "Looks like the real thing."

"Of course it's the real thing." She snatched it back from him.

"I thought maybe you hacked the First Galactic Bank."

"Robbing banks is grounds for expulsion."

"But trying to get into a poker game with a credit disk made out of chocolate isn't?" He positioned himself in front of the mirror and flexed his muscles, studying his reflection. "A cadet does not lie, cheat, steal, or try to pass off chocolate as legal tender."

"Hold on there, mister! Chocolate is legal tender! Back me up here, JT!"

"She's right, Gary," Kirk said. "When I was in grade school, Debbie Garrett gave me a kiss in exchange for a chocolate-covered caramel."

"That explains your account at Mrs. See's Old-fashioned Candies," Mitchell retorted. "But now that the Brat has real money, maybe I'll cancel my date with Marguerite. Then I'll be able to afford a new power injector for my flitter."

"My days of financing your flitter repairs are at an end, Mitchell. I feel lucky. The wind is blowing my way." Brandt slipped under Mitchell's arm and stood in front of him, curling her arms in a classic bodybuilder's pose.

"Is that the same wind that blew you into a stint as lab proctor?"

"No, but it's the one that got Durant to cover for me so I can go camping." She put her right bicep under Mitchell's nose. "Feel this. Like titanium, right?"

Mitchell fingered her upper arm and said, "Not bad. Want to take me on? I'll spot you two inches."

Though tempted to reply, "Keep your crummy two inches," she knew she'd be defeated instantaneously without them. So she screwed her face up into the fiercest countenance she could manage and growled, "You're on."

The two contestants went to the desk and sat down across from each other. Kirk turned away from the shelves, his arms now full of books and disks, and regarded them with dismay.

"Hey, guys? I'm studying here."

"Just be a minute, kid," Mitchell said.

"Yeah, but stick around. Your roommate's going to need an ice pack."

"Two inches, right?" Mitchell asked as he took two books from Kirk and stacked them on Brandt's side of the desk.

"Gary," Kirk warned, "she's smaller than you are--"

"Shut up, Kirk!" Brandt snapped. "One--two--three!"

They locked hands, eyes, and wills.

"Oooo, Brat, you're stronger than I thought. I may actually have to put up a fight," Mitchell said with a sly wink in Kirk's direction.

Kirk went to his bunk and sat down with a heavy sigh.

"You know, Brat, if he breaks your arm, you can't go on the camping trip."

"I'm--in no--danger," she grunted.

"Don't--worry--I'll be--uggghhh--gentle!"

The comm buzzed and Kirk turned away from the battle of the titans.

"Kirk here."

"Hello, Jim," a soft feminine voice cooed.

He quickly picked up the handset, smiling warmly. "Oh, hello."

"Uhhhhh--UHHHHHH--NOOOOOO YOOOOOOU DOOOON'T!" Brandt roared as she repelled Mitchell's assault.

Kirk covered the mouthpiece and shouted, "Hold it down, will you! It's Ruth."

"Hi, Ru--AAGH!" Mitchell pushed back, wondering if Brandt's sudden aggression had anything to do with the person on the other end of the 'phone.

Kirk turned his back on the competition, covered one ear, and hunched down into the 'phone. "Mitch and Brandt are just arm wrestling. ... Don't worry, he won't hurt her."

"I'LL--HURT-- HIM !"

"HA!"

"What was that? I couldn't hear you. ... Really? That's great! ... What made you change your mind? ... Well, I would have missed you, too. ... All right. ... Ruth? I promise you'll enjoy it."

Glowing with satisfaction, he put the handset back in its cradle and announced, "Ruth's coming along on the camping trip."

"What?! OWWWW!" Brandt howled as Mitchell pinned her arm to the desk.

"The winner and still champion!" Mitchell crowed, taking a victory lap to the door and back.

"Brandt, are you all right?" Kirk went to her and offered a solicitous hand. "Can I--"

"Get away from me. I'm fine." Scowling, she shoved past him, muttering, "It's not like I'm some fluffy little--"

"So Ruth's going camping." Mitchell smirked. "Who would have believed it?"

"I think it's great that she's willing to give it a try," Kirk said proudly.

"I do, too. I think I'll ask Marguerite. What about you, Brandt?"

"I hope all four of you get eaten by bears. In fact, after I beat you tonight at poker, I'm going to hire some bears."

***

Captain Figueroa slowly turned in the command seat, surveying three hundred and sixty degrees of beefy manflesh. The sight of her crew, the finest in the fleet--not to mention the handsomest and hottest--filled her with pride and lust. And each and every one wore the leather mini-skirts that were now regulation, at least on Fig's ship. Facing the viewscreen once more and inhaling the sharp funk of testosterone, she thought of the four hundred similarly clad men on the other decks, not to mention the new recruits waiting to beam up--

"Fig! Fig! Wake up!"

"Huh? Wha--" Heavy-lidded, Fig looked up into her roommate's eager face. "Oh, shit, Brandt. I was having the best dream--"

"Listen to this. I just--"

"No, you listen--" She yawned, turned on her side and propped her cheek on one elbow. "What time is it?"

"A little after midnight. I just--"

"I finished my report on replicator mechanics half an hour ago. I'm pooped. This better be important."

"It is important."

Fig looked at her dubiously.

"Well, it's good ."

Fig flopped back on her pillow, resigned to hearing Brandt out.

"You're not going to believe it," Brandt whispered urgently. "I ran into Kirk and the Cupcake coming out of a tri-vee so we all went out for coffee. Fig, listen to me! He's not even getting any! "

"Jim's off coffee?"

"Wake up, you idiot! I'm talking about the Cupcake!"

"What about her?"

"If she's cream-filled, Jim hasn't found out yet."

"Will you stop talking in code?"

"Nookie! No nookie!"

Realizing she wouldn't be allowed any rest until the conversation was over, Fig sat up and shook herself awake. Then, fixing Brandt with a malevolent gaze, she said, "How do you know?"

"She cornered me in the ladies' room and asked if I would be her tentmate on the camping trip. She doesn't want Kirk to 'get any ideas.' I almost fell into the recycler."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her I'd think about it."

"Yeah, I can just see you and the Cupcake, cuddled up in your sleeping bags, whispering and giggling and doing each other's hair."

"I might learn something interesting."

"Like what?"

"Like why the hell Kirk puts up with her."

"I have a better idea. Why don't you share his tent? You could help him out."

"What do you mean?"

"Nookie. Cream filling. You don't expect me to believe that you're all worked up over this because you hate to see Ruth missing out on a good thing."

Brandt stared at her coldly.

"All right, forget I said anything." Fig burrowed down into her blankets with an exasperated huff. "But can I just point out one thing? You're not getting any either."

"That's different. I've chosen to concentrate on my studies. But if I wanted a boyfriend, I'd make damn sure I got one I could get some from."

"Whatever you say. Now will you let me get some sleep?"

"All right," Brandt grumbled. "I just thought you'd be interested. I thought you might have a theory about it."

"About what?"

"About why Jim's willing to wait so long."

"I dunno. Maybe he's a virgin."

After a moment's stunned silence, Brandt whispered, "Do you think so?"

"Could be."

"But all those girlfriends--"

"Maybe he struck out with all of them so he keeps moving on, hoping to get lucky. After all, he's only seventeen. My brother's his age and I'm pretty sure he's a virgin."

"But your brother's a herbert."

"So's Kirk."

"No, he's not!"

"Yes, he is. He just happens to be a good-looking one. And he's dating a cupcake, for god's sake. That's proof of some type of deficiency."

"He's not a herbert."

"Okay, have it your way. But he's got a lot of growing up to do, and from the look of it, so do you. So either trot over to his room and make that boy into a man or go to sleep. But leave me out of it."

Fig turned her back on Brandt and scrunched her pillow with determination. As she pressed her cheek to its welcoming softness, she closed her eyes and soon the sounds of her roommate getting ready for bed dreamily segued into the slap of leather miniskirts hitting the deck.

***

Brandt sat up in bed and squinted until she could read the glowing numbers on the chron. Almost four hundred hours. If she fell asleep right now, she'd get two hours of sleep, not nearly enough to face morning calisthenics followed by an astrophysics exam.

She lay down and began going through every sleep inducement technique that she could think of--relaxing her muscles starting at the toes, breathing slowly and evenly, imagining her mind as a computer screen and giving the "Clear" command...

Ten minutes later, she was once again staring at the chron and thinking, Less than two hours' sleep.

With an exasperated sigh, she resigned herself to using the one technique that was almost sure to work. She reached under the covers and pulled up the hem of her nightshirt, finally giving free play to the persistent fantasy that had been sparked by Fig's sleepy theorizing.

Slow down, cowboy, she imagined whispering to a virginally eager James T. Kirk.

***

"Good work, Brandt," Commander Stokes said after double-checking the information on her padd. "You cut twenty-seven seconds off your time."

"Thank you, sir," she gulped, trying not to look as winded as she felt.

"Care to tell me what lit a fire under you?"

"Sir?"

"You've never run the obstacle course like that before. You took the wall in four steps. What's the big hurry?"

"Just motivated, sir."

"Is that what they call it these days?" She looked at Brandt suspiciously. "All right, dismissed."

"Thank you, sir!"

Brandt smothered a grin as she turned away. Out of class ten minutes early, which made it almost certain that she'd be able to catch Mitchell before he left--

"Brandt!" the instructor snapped.

"Sir?"

"The showers are that way." She pointed toward the gymnasium.

"Yes, sir, but--"

"You skip that shower, mister, and you'll be running laps straight through dinner. Do you get me?"

"Aye, sir."

Brandt reversed course, wondering how much time she could shave off her shower.

***

Brandt hurried to the dormitory's front station, pushing her wet hair back from her face as she leaned over the counter. As two drops of water plopped down on his padd, the young man sitting desk looked up with a sour expression.

"Brandt, do I come to the warp lab and drip on your work?"

"Sorry, Thomason." She took a step back. "Has Mitchell signed out yet?"

"I'm not sure. I just took over. Let's see--"

"Just about to," said a familiar voice behind her.

"Gary! Oh, good. I need to ask you something."

"Can't it wait?" He took the padd from Thomason and pressed his thumb against the slot next to his name.

"Midshipman Gary Mitchell signed out," droned the computer.

"No, Gary, now," Brandt insisted.

"See, Thomason?" he smirked as she dragged him away. "They can't keep their hands off me."

***

"So what did you need to ask me? And make it quick," Mitchell said as she hustled him into a secluded corner.

She hesitated and stared out through the tall windows at the rolling lawn. Now that she was faced with Mitchell frowning impatiently, she couldn't find the words. She'd hoped to bring the subject up casually, but chance had played against her all day and if she didn't ask him now, she'd have to wait until morning for another opportunity. And dammit, she wanted a good night's sleep and she didn't want to earn it by exhausting herself with ridiculous fantasies.

"Gary, I want to know if..."

"If what?"

"Well, I was wondering...about...about Kirk..."

"What about him?"

"Did you know that he and the Cupcake aren't, um, they aren't..."

"Aren't what?"

After a few moments of nervous silence, Mitchell tapped his fingers against her forehead.

"Mitchell to Brandt. Your message is breaking up. Please repeat."

Pursing her lips, she decided to go with a euphemism.

"Did you know he still has every reason to respect her in the morning?"

A stunned frown creased Mitchell's face.

"Is that what's so important?"

"Well, no, it's not really important but I want to know. So is he..." Her courage failed her once more.

"Getting any?" Mitchell asked helpfully. "No. Poor kid."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Did he tell you?"

"No."

"Then how do you--".

"Look--" He grasped her arm, leaned down until their heads were close together, and spoke in a low tone. "When a guy takes a very long shower after every date, it's not because he wants to go to bed clean."

He raised both eyebrows in a silent 'Get it?' and Brandt nodded thoughtfully.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Guys don't do stuff like that."

"Someday I want you to explain the code of guys to me."

"I can't. That's part of the code."

"Gary, is Jim a virgin?"

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Actually, it was Fig's idea. But it makes sense. If he knew what he was missing, I don't think he'd--"

"He's not a virgin."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Did he tell you? Because he could be lying. Isn't that part of the code of guys, too?"

"Brandt, I know . He did that dark-haired girl. What was her name--Charmaine?"

"Charlene. How do you know?"

"I walked in on them."

"Doesn't he know how to override the door system?"

"Yes, but someone--probably Finnegan--hacked ours so that it only looked like it was overridden. When I walked up to the door, it let me in."

"And they were really--"

"Yes. Look, I told Marguerite I'd take her out to her parents' house to pick up her camping gear. So can I go or is there more to this interrogation?"

"No, you're dismissed," she replied absently.

After giving a mocking salute that went unnoticed, Mitchell left her at the window. Brandt leaned against the cold glass, her face puckered in an aggravated scowl. She'd assumed that Ruth's hold over Kirk was sexual until Fig's latest theory had thrown her into a tailspin. But now--he wasn't a virgin, he wasn't getting any, and he was still goofy over the Cupcake.

What the hell did he see in her?


	3. Chapter 3

Though they had hoped to arrive at the campsite early enough to allow some time for exploration, the group encountered various difficulties in keeping to schedule. Commander Luce kept Kirk after class for an hour-long discussion of his innovative solution to a battle scenario, neither Ruth nor Marguerite was ready when they went to pick them up, and Mitchell's flitter failed during the journey, necessitating a full power charge in Fresno. By the time they arrived at the small lake in the Sierra foothills, the descending sun was nearing the tops of the sequoias. Luckily, the hike from the flitter to the ridge above the lake wasn't a strenuous one and they began making camp with nearly an hour of daylight left. Mitchell and Kirk had been there in the early summer with a group of cadets and had chosen this site because of its access to good fishing and a wide variety of hiking trails. Additionally, it wasn't high enough in the mountains to present any real weather problems in early November.

Brandt soon concluded that it was easier to pitch the tent herself than to coordinate with Ruth's tentative attempts at assistance. Although her borrowed tent was supposed to spring into shape at the push of a button, she'd discovered that all the pieces had to be positioned precisely or it collapsed immediately. And Ruth's guesses on what piece went where weren't exactly helping matters.

"I'm sorry to be so clumsy, Suzanne, but I don't want to break a nail."

"Look, I'll set up the tent. Why don't you, um--" She racked her brain for an activity that wouldn't endanger any of Ruth's grooming. "Why don't you go look at the lake? You can see it from the top of that ridge."

"But isn't there something I can do?"

"Well...if you see anyone, ask them how the fishing is."

"All right."

As Ruth headed off toward the lake, Brandt saw Kirk start after her.

"No, you don't, kid!" Mitchell yelled as he and Marguerite struggled with the poles of their tent. "If you're done with your tent, there's plenty of other gear to unpack."

"But she might get lost," Kirk protested.

"We should be so lucky," Brandt grumbled under her breath.

Catching her comment, Mitchell grinned and said, "Jim, it looks like the Brat could use some help. Give her a hand before she gets crabby. Consider it your contribution to morale."

A half an hour later, there was a small fire blazing within the semi-circle formed by the three tents. Kirk and Brandt were sorting through the food packs as they waited for the water to boil. Having loudly proclaimed that he couldn't wait any longer for food, Mitchell was lounging near the fire and sharing a candy bar with Marguerite.

"Look!" Ruth exclaimed brightly as she stepped out from the trees, delicately holding out a string of five fish. "I ran into a man who'd been fishing. He said they're 'jumpin'. He had more than he could eat, so he gave these to me!"

As the others ran to greet Ruth and relieve her of her haul, Brandt muttered, "There is no god," and began tossing the food packs back into the storage container.

***

That night, Brandt lay in her sleeping bag, propped up on her elbows and watching in fascination as Ruth methodically brushed her hair. She couldn't help mentally counting the strokes as Ruth chattered.

...seventy-two, seventy-three...

"You know, Suzanne, I'm surprised you don't have a boyfriend. You're pretty enough."

...seventy-seven...

"I don't have time for a boyfriend right now. Though I wouldn't mind getting laid."

"Oh, Suzanne!"

...eighty-three, eighty-four...

"I mean it. If Jim and Gary ask you what to get me for Christmas, tell them I'd like a hooker. I can't afford one myself."

...eighty-nine, ninety...

"You're terrible."

"It's the gift that keeps on giving."

...ninety-four...

"Suzanne Brandt, I'm not going to listen to one more word of this. I know you're not serious."

"Well, not one hundred percent serious. But by Christmas, I might be."

...ninety-nine, one hundred .

Ruth put her brush into her cosmetics kit--which Brandt had disdainfully noted took up nearly half of her back pack--fluffed her now shining hair, and stood. Assuming Ruth was about to turn out the light, Suzanne settled into her sleeping bag. To her surprise, Ruth parted the tent flaps and started out.

"Where are you going?"

"I thought I'd say good night to Jim."

"You can't go out there alone."

"Why not? His tent is only a few feet away."

"Get back in here."

With a quizzical expression, Ruth turned out the light and returned to her sleeping bag. As she settled in, Brandt said, "Look. I didn't want to tell you this, but..."

"What?"

"Didn't you hear what happened around here a few days ago?"

"No."

"You know the personality adjustment center a few miles north of here?"

"No."

"Well, there is one. I think they try to keep it quiet."

"How do you know about it?"

"A friend of mine is a security guard there."

"Oh."

"Well, last week, an insane Klingon escaped."

"Oh, my goodness!"

"He's dangerous, too. He's obsessed with the idea of keeping humans from procreating."

Ruth's face crinkled in puzzlement.

Resolving to stick to more simplistic words in the future, Brandt explained, "Making more humans."

After a beat, Ruth's eyes opened wide. "Oh!"

"Well, a few nights ago, there was a couple necking in a flitter near here. They heard these noises outside. Scratch, scratch, scratch. Then it stopped, so they kept on making out. But it started up again. Scraaaatch. Scraaaatch. Finally, they decided to leave. But when they got home..."

"Y-y-yes?"

"Guess what they found hanging from the door handle."

"What?"

"A Klingon bat'leth."

"No! You're making that up."

"God's honest truth."

After a long pause, Ruth asked in a small voice, "Did they catch the Klingon?"

"Not yet. Well, good night."

For several minutes, Brandt watched as Ruth curled into a tight ball of trepidation. She waited until her tentmate's shiny, well-brushed hair--visible even in the darkness--had almost completely disappeared into the sleeping bag, and then she sniffed loudly.

"Ruth, do you smell something? Something kind of sweet?"

"No."

"You sealed that honey up, didn't you?"

"Oh, yes. Jim warned me about bears, so I had him check it."

"Good, because bears aren't the only ones who like honey."

"You think Gary will eat it all while we're sleeping?"

"No. Honey is like catnip to Klingons. "

"I never heard that before."

Brandt nodded sagely. "Honey and rosemary. Drives them crazy."

After a tense silence, Ruth said in a trembling voice, "Suzanne?"

"Mmmmm?" Brandt responded sleepily.

"I use rosemary and honey shampoo."

"You do? Well, I'm sure it will be all right. By the way, your hair looks great."

"Th-thanks."

Brandt turned over, half-hating herself. This was just the kind of stunt people used to pull on her little brother, and she'd beaten them up for it. But Ruth was such an easy target. And maybe if Jim saw what a ninny she was...

She scraped her fingernails against the side of the tent.

"Ruth?" she whispered. "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"That noise."

"No."

Scratch. Scratch.

"Ruth, don't do that."

"I'm not doing anything."

"Yes, you are. It's not funny."

Scratch. Scraatch.

"Suzanne, I swear that wasn't me."

"Well, it wasn't me."

Scraaatch. Scraaaaaaaatch.

Brandt wished she had something sharp to tear the fabric. Ruth would probably wet her pants.

Scratchscratchscratchscratch.

Ruth gave a little yelp.

"Shhhh! I'm going to see what it is."

"No! Don't do that! Let's just scream for Jim."

"It probably is Jim, trying to scare us."

"He wouldn't do that."

"Well, I'll just check. Stay here." She climbed out of her sleeping bag and slipped her shoes on. "Seal the flaps after me."

"How will you get back in?"

"I'll scratch."

"But you might be the Klingon."

"I'll do one short scratch and one long one."

"Suzanne, I'm scared."

"Don't worry. I'm sure it's nothing." Brandt turned back and regarded Ruth with a worried expression. "Do you have any insect repellant?"

"Yes." Ruth scrambled to her pack and retrieved a large spray canister.

"Spray it on your hair." When Ruth hesitated, Brandt said, "I can smell your shampoo all the way over here."

Ruth nodded nervously, closed her eyes, and held the can up to her head.

Concealing a wicked grin, Brandt unsealed the tent.

***

Ruth held down the button on the canister and sprayed her hair in a large arc, hoping the Klingon would hate the smell as much as she did. Then she scurried to the opening and re-sealed it with shaking hands. Deciding she'd better be prepared to run, she put on her shoes and stood in the middle of the tent, fearfully clutching the can to her bosom. After several moments, she reapplied the bug spray, and, as she was shaking the can for another round, she realized that even an insane Klingon wouldn't like having insect repellant sprayed in his eyes. Planting her feet in what she hoped was a defiant stance, she pointed the can at the entrance with both index fingers trembling on the button.

Scratch!

She whimpered softly as she waited for the rest of the signal, silently mouthing a fervent prayer.

Please be Suzanne, please be Suzanne--

Scraaaaaaaatch.

Sighing with relief, she moved to the entrance and began unsealing it.

Scratchscratchscratch!

Ruth screamed and stumbled backwards.

***

Choking on laughter, Brandt ducked around to the side of the tent and listened to the cries from within. To her delight, Ruth apparently hit the take-down control and the entire tent collapsed. Howling, Brandt clutched her sides and fell to the ground as the mound of canvas flopped frantically in all directions. When the others came rushing out, she managed to gasp, "Ruth's stuck in the tent!"

Kirk tore open the flaps and dove into the cloud of noxious vapor. The commotion within the tent became even more agitated as his roar of indignation joined Ruth's screams. Wheezing with laughter, Brandt struggled to her feet and staggered over to Gary and Marguerite.

"What the hell is going on?" Mitchell said. "And what's that smell?"

"B-b-bug spray!" Brandt blurted, losing control once more.

At that moment, the conquering hero emerged from the tent, coughing and wiping tears from his eyes yet still managing to gently guide a trembling, sobbing Ruth. At the sight of her tentmate's sticky, disheveled hair, Brandt once more doubled over with laughter. Mitchell and Marguerite hurried to Ruth and joined Kirk in trying to elicit a coherent description of what had happened.

"A Klingon! And a flitter! And scratching! And--and--and--"

Brandt finally recovered herself and joined them just in time to see Jim pull Ruth close and murmur, "Shhh. Shhh. It's all right." Looking over her shoulder, he gave Brandt a suspicious glare.

"What?" she said. "I told her a ghost story. How was I to know she'd get hysterical?"

"That was very cruel, Brat. And collapsing the tent--"

"That wasn't me! I swear!"

"Apologize. Now."

Rolling her eyes, Brandt approached Ruth and patted her on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Ruth. Really. Come on, let's go back to bed."

"No," Kirk said. "I'm not leaving her alone with you. Come on, Ruth, you'll sleep in my tent tonight."

"Jim, I can't!"

"Don't worry. I'll sleep right outside so you'll feel safe. I like sleeping under the stars." As he led Ruth away, he turned back and said, "And don't anyone dare help Brandt set up that tent."

***

The next morning, Brandt rose early but none too happily. She hadn't slept well, kept awake by the sounds of Gary and Marguerite going at it in the next tent and her own frustration at the way her plan had back-fired. But she didn't want to be the camp pariah all weekend, so she decided to concentrate on redeeming herself.

When she stepped outside, she saw Kirk's sleeping bag neatly rolled up in front of the tent where Ruth was presumably still sleeping. Kirk himself was nowhere in sight, but remembering how important morning coffee was to both him and Mitchell, she assumed he'd gone to replenish the water supply.

Gathering her fishing gear, she decided that she would provide breakfast. And she would catch it herself.

As she walked along the trail, she sourly repeated in a pinched little voice, "He had more than he could eat, so he gave these to meeeee! Oh, goody! Three cheers for the Cupcake!"

Making her way along the ridge that sloped down to the lake's edge, she saw someone was already there and, as she drew closer, she realized that Kirk had beaten her to it.

***

He was reeling in a large lake trout when Brandt came up beside him. He turned to her and said, "I've got six. That should do for a while."

"Sounds good."

"Are you going swimming or shall we walk back together?"

"Are you kidding? The water's freezing. I'll walk with you."

They started up the hill and walked in silence for several minutes until they reached a point where the path leveled out along the edge of a thirty-foot ledge. Below, the deepest part of the lake glistened in the morning sun, its rich blue water flecked with silver and gold.

Stopping, Kirk said, "Hold on. I've got a rock in my shoe."

He bent down to fix it and Brandt looked out over the lake.

"Gary said the kayaking here was wonderful."

"It was. Too bad the boat rental has already shut down for the season."

Kirk stood and brushed the knees of his jeans.

"Ready?" Brandt asked.

"No. I want to talk to you about last night."

"Jim, I'm really sorry."

"I know. But look, Ruth isn't like you or the girls at the Academy. She's...well, she's softer. I don't like to see someone take advantage of her..."

"Gullibility?"

"Trusting nature. And she likes you. She wants to be your friend. Could you give her a chance?"

She hesitated and he could see she didn't welcome the idea of buddying up with Ruth. He waited, counting on what he hoped was a guilty conscience. Finally, she sighed and said, "All right. When we get back to San Francisco, I'll take her out to lunch to make up for it."

"Thanks."

"Will you lend me some money?"

"Sure. By the way, do you have an extra set of clothes with you?"

"Yes. Why--"

"Good."

He grabbed the back of her shirt collar in one hand and the seat of her pants in the other and hurled her into the lake. She screamed all the way down--sounding much louder than Ruth to his ears--hit the water with a resounding splash, and surfaced moments later, sputtering and shaking her fist. He watched until she began swimming toward shore in strong, angry strokes. Then he cupped his hands to his mouth and yelled,Laughing, he called, "See you back at camp!"

He picked up the fish and his gear, leaving Brandt's for her to gather on her trip back, and went on his way, his occasional bursts of laughter startling a few birds. When he arrived at camp, the others were gathered around the fire, exhorting the coffee to boil faster.

Ruth looked up and greeted him with a smile. As he sat down beside her, she asked, "Jim darling, have you seen Suzanne? Her tent is empty."

"She decided to go for a swim."

On the other side of the fire, Mitchell caught his eye and guffawed.

***

Having changed into dry clothes, Brandt set her wet shoes on a flat rock in the sun and began hanging her other garments on nearby tree branches. She could hear the others laughing and talking as they prepared for a hike along a trail to the west of the lake. She tried to feel some resentment that Kirk hadn't asked her if she had another pair of shoes with her but she knew she'd earned her morning swim.

"Can I give you some friendly advice?"

She turned and saw Mitchell straightening the legs on the jeans she'd hung up moments earlier.

"Sure, why not?" she said tiredly.

"If you're trying to split up Jim and the Cupcake, that stunt last night was a bad idea."

"I know, I know. Jim and I already had it out. Now I have to be her friend."

"You don't get me. You can't stand her because she's silly and weak. But picking on her just makes you look like a bully and gives Jim every reason to protect her. Remember how he bailed us out in Warp Physics? He's a hero. And last night, you enhanced Ruth's image as a maiden fair who's very much in need of a knight on a white horse."

"So what do you think I should do?"

"You could mind your own business. You were positive this was going to run its course, remember?"

"I can't wait that long. Every time I see her..." She shuddered.

"Brat, get over it. Maybe if you got a boyfriend, you'd quit worrying about Kirk's love life. Besides, he's already making noises about dropping you off at the personality adjustment center on the way back."

At the sound of Kirk calling, "Mitchell, come on!" he said, "Gotta go. Have lunch ready when we get back, all right?"


	4. Chapter 4

Monday morning found Brandt sitting next to TJ Durant outside the office of the Commandant of Cadets. Having waited in taut silence for seven minutes, she thought she would shatter if she had to disguise her agitation much longer and she didn't have to look at Durant to know that he was suffering the same agony of uncertainty. She looked across the room at the commandant's aide. Since ushering them into the straight-backed chairs at the window, he had not acknowledged their presence but she was sure that one word from either of them would bring a glare that would further erode their dwindling self-possession. Suddenly, a short buzz shattered the silence. The aide flipped a switch on his desk console and a low conversation ensued, none of which was audible to the two nervous midshipmen. After acknowledging the order he had just received, he picked up his padd and went into the commandant's office. Taking advantage of his momentary absence, Brandt turned to Durant and whispered through clenched teeth, "For god's sake, what happened?"

Slumping in his chair, Durant replied, "They were doing the simulation of shutting down the warp core, but it wouldn't go."

"Did you turn on manual override?"

"Uhhhh...not exactly."

"Shit, TJ!"

"Well, we started getting these readings that were completely off the scale and the next thing I knew, we were doing Warp 11--"

"You can't exceed Warp 8!"

"Tell that to the computer. The lab was shaking like we really had a hot warp core. Then the computer said that we'd gone back in time and Tsang had killed his own grandmother. O'Bannion pointed out that maybe Tsang no longer existed and Tsang got hysterical, so I peeled him off the ceiling and shut the lab down."

"How did you do that?"

Durant shuffled his feet and mumbled, "Turned out the lights and locked the door."

Now it was Brandt's turn to slump miserably.

"Leaving the lab running all weekend at Warp 11. No wonder every circuit is fused."

"Look, Brandt, I'm really sorry. I ran the simulation myself beforehand to make sure I knew it. It wasn't your fault."

"Yes, it was. My watch, my responsibility." She dropped her head to her hands.

"No, it's my fault. I told you I could handle it. So when we get in there, I'll say--"

"Forget it, Durant. The old man will never buy it. Just promise me one thing."

"What?"

"If, through some miracle, we're not kicked out over this, and if, through a second miracle, we get into command school, I don't want you near the simulator during my Kobayashi Maru."

"Don't worry about it. I seriously doubt that I'll be in command school."

She gave him a withering look and asked derisively, "What are you going for--security?"

"I'm thinking about switching my major to temporal physics. I feel like I should check on Tsang's grandmother."

The aide returned and said, "Brandt, the commandant will see you now."

***

After three minutes spent standing at attention as the commandant read the report on his monitor, Brandt felt the beads of sweat forming around her hairline. Flop-sweat. Humiliation-sweat. I-can't-believe-I-was-such-an-idiot-sweat. She had hoped never to stand in front of him this way. She remembered her pre-admission interview. After grilling her for an hour, he'd sat back and studied her as she'd tried not to hold her breath. Finally, he'd nodded curtly and said, "You'll do."

You'll do. She'd been walking on air for days after that. And now she most definitely hadn't done. She'd abandoned her responsibility as lab proctor to go camping with Kirk and Mitchell--to have some time together, just the three of them--and then that idiotic Cupcake had come along, and Marguerite too, although she wasn't too bad--and now--

She was doing it again! Forget the damn Cupcake! she ordered herself.

"Computer, clear," the commandant said and turned a baleful gaze on her. She felt a thin stream of perspiration slither past her ear. He leaned forward and his words were made all the more fear-inspiring by the quiet rumble in his voice.

"Brandt, did you check Mr. Durant on that exercise before going off for the weekend?"

"No, sir." To her dismay, her words came out in a nervous croak.

"Speak up, mister, I couldn't hear you."

She forced herself to speak clearly. "No, sir, I didn't run the exercise with Mr. Durant."

"Explanation?"

"None, sir."

"There's always an explanation, Brandt, even if it's negligence."

Her throat constricted around a hard lump and she swallowed with some difficulty. "Yes, sir, it was negligence. I take full responsibility."

"It's a little late for that, isn't it? As of Saturday afternoon, the Academy doesn't have a warp lab. Brandt, I know you probably regarded your appointment as lab proctor as an unwanted burden but every job in Starfleet includes at least one of those. Right now, you're mine. Or do you imagine that I enjoy conversations like this one?"

"No, sir."

"I want to be very clear about this. There's nothing wrong with delegating. In fact, several of your instructors have noted that it's a skill you need to develop. However, your failure to prepare Mr. Durant to lead the simulation was simply irresponsible. I never would have expected it of you. What were you thinking? Brandt? Answer me. What were you thinking of?"

Unable to imagine what response would be propagated by a completely honest answer--'Midshipman Kirk's idiotic girlfriend, sir'--she drew a shallow breath and said, "Camping, sir."

"Camping." The commandant studied her narrowly. "In case you haven't noticed, Brandt, you're not at a girl scout jamboree. This is Starfleet Academy and you have to earn your place here every day. So I suggest you re-focus your thinking."

"Yes, sir."

"I think a few hours of punishment duty might help you do just that."

"Yes, sir."

"Report to Commander Taku in Recycling at twenty-one-hundred hours. You'll work for him for three hours tonight and every night until the programmers have that lab up and running. And while you're scrubbing out the sludge tanks, I want you to think about your classmates who aren't going to get cleared on those simulations until the lab is repaired. And I also want you to think about what might happen to the people under the command of an officer who puts her own pleasure ahead of her duties."

"Yes, sir, I will."

"Dismissed."

***

"Never been in Recycling before, have you, Brandt?" Commander Taku said as he stepped into the turbolift.

"No, sir," she said, shuffling after him a little awkwardly. She was already sweating inside the cumbersome environmental suit and she'd only had it on for a few minutes. Taku had told her she'd get a helmet "downstairs" and she wasn't looking forward to carrying the additional weight.

He ordered the lift to "The Tanks" and she grabbed a handhold as they plummeted downward. The journey was short but the speed of their descent threw her stomach into a series of flip-flops and when the lift came to an abrupt halt, she felt the jolt from her knees to the top of her spine. Taku looked back at her and smiled.

"Not too bad, Brandt. Your partner was green as a space-sick Vulcan after that little drop."

"Sir, I thought Durant was doing a later shift--"

"He is. But no one works in the tanks without a partner and yours--well, I think you'll have an interesting time with him."

The doors opened and she was immediately hit by a strong stench. Her stomach rolled over again as she trotted to keep up with the commander. Soon she could barely see him through the tears filling her burning eyes.

"Are you going to dawdle around breathing this shit or do you want a helmet?"

Choking on the foul air, she ran in the direction of his voice. She found him standing near a door marked 'Recycling Tanks.' He had removed two helmets from a wall compartment and he tossed one to Brandt and put on the other, effortlessly closing the locks that sealed it to the neck of his suit. After watching her struggle with a stubborn closure for a few moments, he put his hands on either side of her helmet and shook her from side to side until it closed with a loud snap. Suddenly she was breathing an atmosphere that carried no discernible taint other than the faint metallic taste of filtered air. Almost limp with gratitude, she gulped down the fresh air but her relief turned to alarm when she realized that that everything around her was a frightening shade of green.

"Are you seeing green?" The commander's voice crackled through the speaker at the back of her helmet. "Good. That means you're sealed. Got it?"

"Aye, sir!"

He winced. "You don't have to shout. If the seal is broken, your faceplate will turn red. If that happens, come out here, get out of the suit as fast as you can, and get into the decontamination chamber." He pointed at a clear, seven-foot cylinder that stood opposite the doorway. "Stay there until help arrives. Watch your partner, too. If his faceplate looks brown, get him out. Are we clear on that?"

Feeling a sudden rush of dread, she yelped, "Yes, sir, perfectly clear!"

Shaking his head, Taku turned to the doorway and muttered, "Why do they all shout?"

The door slid open and they entered a cavernous room filled with row upon row of round-bottomed tanks, each standing three meters high and five across. Feeling small and vulnerable, she stopped just inside the doorway and took a moment to collect herself.

"Brandt!" Taku barked. "This isn't a sight-seeing tour!"

"Aye, sir!"

She ran to catch up, casting quick glances from side to side and glad to see a reassuring veil of green. When she stood beside him near one of the inner tanks, he called up to a heavy-set man who sat perched on the edge.

"Lieutenant, this is Midshipman Brandt. Set her up and then report to me in Analysis."

"Aye, sir."

Taku left and the lieutenant looked down at Brandt, tapping his faceplate.

"You know about green and red?"

"Yes, sir."

"All right, let's put you to work. Grant, is it?"

"Brandt, sir, with a B."

"Well, Brandt with a B, the ladder's on the other side. Climb on up and I'll fill you in."

***

As she neared the top of the ladder, Brandt peered into the tank and saw that it was empty except for one person standing at the bottom. He was wearing a protective suit like her own and carrying a cumbersome canister marked "Handle with Care." In his other hand, he held a nozzle and was spraying the opposite wall of the tank with a blue liquid that thickened on contact and slowly slid down to his feet.

"You missed a spot there, Finnegan," the lieutenant's voice buzzed mockingly.

Finnegan? She was going to spend her evening in a sludge tank with Finnegan?

Hiding her discontent, she swung her legs over the edge.

"Scoot over here, Brandt," the lieutenant ordered. "Come on, move it. I haven't got all day."

Guiding herself with her hands, she edged her way along the top until she was next to the lieutenant.

"I'm Lieutenant Utley, your guide to recycling engineering, or sloppy seconds, as we like to call it."

***

An hour later, Finnegan's voice broke the silence.

"What are you in for?"

Brandt looked over her shoulder and saw him sitting against the opposite side of the tank, idly tossing his scrub brush from hand to hand.

"We've got this tank and the next to do before Lieutenant Utley gets back," she said curtly as she turned and leaned into her brush.

"C'mon, lass, we're entitled to a break."

"You can take a break if you need one but this is going to be the cleanest damn--"

"Brandt, they don't give out medals for scrubbing sludge tanks. Besides, it's wasted effort. Humans can't even get near the chemicals you need to clean these things. That's why they have the bots."

She stopped scrubbing and turned to him. "How do you know?"

"My father told me. He was an instructor here when they installed the recycling system. Up until then, punishment duty consisted of marching around the quad or digging holes and refilling them. This is even more distasteful and just as pointless."

Heaving a sigh, she sat down and began rubbing her aching knees.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?" Finnegan asked. When she didn't reply, he crawled across the bottom of the tank with an inviting smile. "You tell me yours and I'll tell you mine."

She couldn't help noticing the pleasing lilt of his voice despite the distortion of the suit's comm system.

"Did you hear about the warp lab?"

"Yes," he said carefully, "but I thought that was Durant's doing."

She shook her head. "I was supposed to be the proctor that afternoon. I got Durant to fill in for me, but I didn't check him out on the exercise."

After staring at her for several seconds, Finnegan began rocking with laughter. "Oh, lord! Mother of god, what a to-do! Oh, Danny my lad, you've screwed it up something royal this time!"

Brandt slowly pointed an accusing finger. "You..."

"Yes, darlin', it was me."

"You snake! You belong in a sludge tank! You are sludge!"

"Oh, now, don't be that way. I didn't mean to get you with my little prank. I heard that popinjay Durant bragging about being in charge of the warp lab and I couldn't resist. You should have seen him when the computer said Tsang's sainted old granny was dead. You would've laughed, I swear you would have."

"I can't believe they didn't expel you!"

"They don't know it was me and they're not going to find out, are they?"

"Oh, yes, they are!"

"Brandt, you wouldn't rat me out now, would you? For a harmless joke? When I've taken you into my confidence and all."

"Harmless joke? The lab is practically scrap metal!"

"I didn't know Durant would be fool enough to just walk away from it."

"It doesn't matter! You destroyed Academy property!"

"I see I'll have to take you into my confidence a little further. My family's buying the Academy a new one, in memory of Rear Admiral Donald Finnegan. It's been planned for months but it won't be announced until next week. It will be installed right after that. So the Academy will have two warp labs, I've had a good laugh--" He smiled winningly. "--and I've made a new friend."

"I'm not your friend."

"You're not? Ah well, you're my sludge partner. I'll settle for that for now."

"You're insane, you know that?"

"Well, that's true enough," he said cheerfully. "But it's a fine madness and I intend to enjoy it. Let's get back to work."

"I thought you said we didn't have to do anything."

"Oh, they can still tell if the tanks have been scrubbed or not. But we needn't get carried away." He stood and handed her both brushes. "Why don't you climb up on my shoulders to do the high part?"

"Why? Is your suit wired to give me an electric shock?"

He laughed. "I'll remember that just in case I ever have Kirk as a sludge partner. Not that he'll ever step out of line."

"Finnegan, why--"

"Call me Danny. It's Suzanne, isn't it? That's a lovely name."

"Don't blow smoke at me. Danny, why do you do all those awful things to Kirk?"

"Suzanne, I know you're his friend and all, but even you have to admit that young Jimmy's a bit of a stick."

She noticed that he made no mention of his own disgruntlement at the way Kirk's abilities had gained the notice of the Academy brass from his first day there. Being outshone by the son of an obscure Security officer had to be a bitter pill for the scion of a renowned military family. She remembered the persistent rumor that Kirk had pulled down one of the highest entrance exam scores in the Academy's history. Finnegan would certainly have heard it and she wondered if it was true that he had taken the exam three times before passing. She didn't have to wonder about Kirk; she happened to know that, in his case, the scuttlebutt was true. She'd overheard Captain DeMarc telling Commander Finney about it.

Hearing something like hurt under the rancor in Finnegan's voice, she almost felt sorry for him until he added, "In fact, he's a pompous ass, not to put too fine a point on it."

"No, he isn't," she snapped. "He's going to do amazing things, I know it."

"Then he should be able to hold up under a few wee jokes. And he certainly shouldn't need to send a young woman to his defense."

"He didn't ask me to talk to you. In fact, he'd probably kill me if he knew I'd said anything."

"No, he wouldn't. He'd get up on his high horse and give you a good scolding until you got so fed up, you'd be begging me to put liquid soap in his pancake syrup."

"Well, what about Durant and Mitchell? What have you got against them?"

"They're Jimmy's friends. That's reason enough."

"What about me? I'm his friend."

"I think there's hope for you. And besides, you're a girl and my mother raised me to respect girls. But since you took the hit over my warp lab prank, I'll let up on Mitchell and Durant as a favor to you."

"And Kirk?"

He gave a sharp snort of laughter. "Darlin', I wouldn't let up on him if the fate of the Federation depended on it." He dropped to one knee. "Now up you go."

Brandt gingerly climbed up onto his shoulders, carefully balancing herself as he stood. When they'd settled into a steady position, she leaned into the top of the tank's inner wall and began scrubbing.

"If they didn't catch you on the warp lab, what are you in for?"

"Well, it's a rather complicated story. I don't know that I could tell it properly while balancing you on my shoulders. But if you're free Saturday night..."

"Sorry, I don't date my friends."

"We're friends now, are we?"

"I upgraded you so that I'd have an excuse not to date you. So what did you do?"

"I put liquid soap in the maple syrup. Unfortunately, Admiral Crawford decided to have breakfast with the underclassmen that day."

***

On Tuesday afternoon, Brandt was dealt another even more frightful blow as a result of her weekend activities. Ruth had turned down her lunch invitation, explaining that she rarely ate more than one meal a day. As Brandt was fumbling around for an alternate activity they could share, Ruth had squealed enthusiastically, "I know! You can come to the store and I'll do a makeover!"

"No, Ruth, I'm really not--"

"Oh, please, Suzanne. You know," she said sadly, "it took me over an hour to get that bug spray out of my hair."

Wondering how many others had given in to those hurt puppy-dog eyes against their better judgment, Brandt had reluctantly agreed.

Now, seated on a tall chair at La Belle Femme's counter, she fidgeted unhappily as Ruth held up what appeared to be a scanner. Pink with white trim, it emitted an annoying twitter as Ruth slowly waved it in front of Brandt's face.

"Don't frown, Suzanne. It will give you wrinkles. Just relax. This is the latest in cosmetic technology. Aaaaaaand there!" She attached the instrument to a yellow machine. "Now in just a minute, this will give me a full color analysis of your skin, eyes, and lips."

"Couldn't you get that just by looking at me?"

Ruth let out a trill of laughter. "Oh, don't be silly, Suzanne! That wouldn't be scientific! Now let me just run this through your hair," she said, brandishing a three-pronged lavender comb.

Brandt pulled away with a sharp, "Don't do anything to my hair."

"I can't do the makeover without a color reading." She began gently combing Brandt's hair. "Is this natural?"

"Of course it is."

"The curl, too? Oh my, aren't you lucky. You should really let it grow out. Boys love curls. Just think, you could wear it piled up like mine and then, when you let it down..."

"Thanks, but I like it short."

"All right, but I'll bet you change your mind when you see yourself after I'm through. I know what I'm talking about, Suzanne. There's no reason for a girl to go through life looking however she happens to look, not with all the wonderful products available today. And you don't even need that much. You have good skin, pretty eyes, and curly hair. If you would just emphasize those, no one would even notice that you don't have very much up here." Ruth gestured toward her own bosom.

"Ruth," Brandt said coldly, "couldn't you just give me some moisturizer?"

"No, you said I could do a makeover."

Ruth pouted prettily and Brandt silently cursed whatever god had blessed the Cupcake with the ability to sulk in an attractive way.

"I didn't say you could insult me."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know you were sensitive about being flat-chested."

"I'm not--"

"Don't worry, you're probably just a late bloomer. I was lucky, mine popped right out when I was thirteen. But I have a friend like you--" She gave Brandt a knowing wink. "--and she got tired of being a late bloomer so she went to Venus Body Shaping and now we call her Clarissa Cleavage. So if you're concerned about not having boobies--"

"I have--"

The yellow machine pinged and rolled out a long scroll.

"Oh, the judges have reached a decision! Now let's see. Hmmm... Hmmm..."

Ruth ducked behind the counter and Brandt watched as a dismaying quantity of powders, brushes, and creams were lined up one by one.

"Ruth, how long is this going to take?"

"Half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes." Ruth came around to the front of the counter. "Now tilt your head up." She began dotting Brandt's face with blobs of lotion and her voice took on an authoritative tone. "This foundation has a sun screen and a moisturizer and tri-hydroxical acids and...um, lots of other scientific stuff. It's specially formulated for young, healthy skin."

"If my skin is so young and healthy, why does it need this stuff?"

"So it won't get old and sick." She began smoothing the lotion over Brandt's cheeks and returned to her canned speech. "This is La Belle Femme's lightest foundation..."

***

At the sound of the door opening, Fig looked up from the quantum physics text. Her mouth fell open and she looked again. And again. And again. Then she rose slowly from the desk and approached the person who had entered the room.

"Suzanne? Is that you?"

"Yes," Brandt muttered miserably.

"Holy shit! What happened?"

"The Cupcake gave me a makeover."

"Makeover, hell! You look just like her. She even made your cheeks look chubby." Fig leaned in and examined her roommate's face. "I don't believe it. I never would have thought the Cupcake could master cloning technology. You even smell like her."

"She spritzed me before I could stop her. Help me sort through this." Brandt went to her bed and dumped out the bag of cosmetic products. "There's supposed to be something in here to take this stuff off."

"I hope so. Otherwise you might have to use those chemicals you're cleaning the sludge tanks with."

"Fig, I'm really not in the mood for jokes."

"What is all this junk? Moisturizing Essence for Daytime, Moisturizing Infusion for Nighttime, Luminescent Blush of Roses--what, no schedule for blush? Distillation of Purifying Extract--what the hell is that?"

"We're looking for cleanser, remember?"

Fig picked up a heavy jar, read the label, and shuddered.

"I don't even want to know what Extra Strength Facial Repair Cream is."

"Hang onto that. I think we can use it to fix the crack in the wall where you hung your Men of the Outer Rim calendar."

"Why didn't you wash that stuff off after you left the store?"

"I had the Cupcake with me. She wanted to say good-night to Kirk."

"You walked across campus like that?"

"No, of course not. I took her through the arboretum."

"Did anyone see you?"

"Captain DeMarc."

"Oh, no. What did he say?"

"He asked which of us is the evil twin."

In silent sympathy, Fig handed her a bottle of La Belle Femme Foaming Cleanser for Vibrant Skin.

***

"The Delosians and the Phurzons had been on the brink of war for years," Captain DeMarc said as he slowly paced the front of the classroom.

He looked around, please to see every head turned in his direction. Last year, he'd force-fed them Basic Strategies of Interstellar Military Action, throwing in a few surprises along the way just to show them they didn't know it all, even if they had studied it as part of their Academy pre-work. But this year, the material needed no help from him. With each new scenario he presented, they dug deeper, throwing themselves into the history that would inform their futures. It became personal for them and knowing what they would face when they left the Academy made it personal for him, too.

"The arms build-up on both sides had been escalating for over ten standard years, with the Phurzons consistently showing a marked superiority in ships, weaponry, and number of troops. When war finally broke out, the Phurzons carried the battle straight to Delos. Yet their initial invasion gained them only a toehold on the planet's harshest terrain. Subsequent invasions gained them little more. Eventually, the Phurzon government nearly bankrupted itself with military spending, the Phurzon people rebelled as the war dragged on, and the government narrowly averted full-scale revolution by petitioning the Delosians for peace." He looked around the room until his eyes fell on one individual. "Mitchell. What's your take on this? What happened to the Phurzons' advantage?"

"Sir, the Phurzons failed to take into account the fact that the Delosians would fight more fiercely in battles on their home turf."

"True, but with the Phurzons' superior capabilities, that shouldn't have been a deciding factor. All of their analyses showed that they should have been able to overpower the Delosians, despite the disadvantage of fighting a war on foreign soil. Anyone else? Brandt?"

"The Phurzons didn't throw everything they had at the Delosians, sir."

"Why not?"

"Initially, because they didn't think they had to. They believed they could defeat the Delosians with a modest outlay."

"And later? Why didn't they escalate their efforts?"

"The war became too unpopular at home. By the time they realized that it couldn't be won by half-measures, they were facing revolution from their own people."

"Yes, but there's something you're missing. Why didn't their strategies project any of that? How were the Delosians able to hold out so long? Did any of you read the supplemental materials?"

Yes, of course they had. He could see it in the puzzled looks on their faces. They'd read those materials without understanding the implications. He sighed.

"The Delosian military budget? See anything unusual there? What about all that money going to the Delos Institute for Pyschosociological Studies? Did any of you think it was worth looking into that?"

"Sir?"

DeMarc suppressed a smile. He might have known.

"Yes, Mr. Kirk?"

"Sir, during the arms build-up, the Delosians financed a sociological study of the Phurzons. The Phurzons were in the middle of an economic boom and the Phurzon people were quite comfortable with the ways things were. The Delosians concluded that the average citizen wouldn't support a war when he couldn't see the threat to him personally. Although the Phurzon government understood what was at stake, they'd never been able to communicate that to the population. Even some of the military leaders were confused about the long-term goals of the conflict. The Delosians concluded that if they just held out long enough, the Phurzon people would end the war for them. They knew they had no hope of winning by traditional means, so they waited it out, mounting only enough of a defense to keep the war going."

"In short, Mr. Kirk?"

"Know your enemy, sir."

"Exactly. The Delosians won the war because they understood the Phurzons' psychology, and that can be as powerful a weapon as a phalanx of photon torpedoes, sometimes more so. It's not enough to know what the enemy is capable of. What will they actually do? And why? To defeat the enemy, you must learn to think like the enemy. Otherwise, you'll expend your resources needlessly, just as the Phurzons did. Brandt, did you want to say something?"

"Me? No, sir."

"Are you sure? You looked like you were about to jump up and shout 'Eureka!'"

"No, sir, I was just wondering if the same sort of study could be applied to a smaller action with a shorter time frame."

"And your conclusion?"

She smiled. "I think it could, sir."

***

That night, while Fig was working in the chemistry lab, Brandt applied all the makeup Ruth had given her and stared into the mirror for a very long time.

To defeat the Cupcake, one must understand the Cupcake. Think like the Cupcake. Be the Cupcake.

Despite the excessive amount of warpaint and repeatedly opening her eyes wide as she tilted her head just so, her inner Cupcake remained unawakened. She concluded with some relief that she didn't have one. As she wiped off the pastel camouflage, she decided that closer observation of the genuine article was required. The next morning, she called Ruth and wrangled an invitation to Sunday brunch at the Cupcake's family home in Monterey.


	5. Chapter 5

"Daddy!"

Running up the walk, Ruth threw her arms around the man who held his hands out in welcome.

Walking beside Kirk, Brandt looked around at their surroundings. On the one side of the walk, a stand of towering pine trees climbed up the rocky cliff. On the other, the ground dropped away sharply and she could hear the Pacific Ocean roaring below. Ahead loomed a multi-level house that looked as if it had grown out of its natural surroundings. Its walls were composed of wood and stone, smoothed and bleached by the wind and sun. Sheet upon sheet of sparkling glass looked out from every angle, the sharp bevels catching the sunlight. She caught herself wondering how many sludgebots it took to keep the seaspray from leaving its mark on the glistening windows.

"Pretty impressive, isn't it?" Kirk said.

"I believe the appropriate response would be 'wow.'"

Kirk chuckled and pointed toward the top level of the house. "Look up there."

She saw the corner of a deck that swept around to the ocean side. Looking carefully, she could just make out the slender stilts that supported it and disappeared into the foliage below.

"The view is incredible," he continued. "We'll have to go out there at sunset."

"You're not going to throw me into the water, are you?"

"Not if you behave yourself."

"Not to worry. I've decided to do exactly what you asked me to."

"What's that?"

"Be her friend."

"Jim!" Ruth's father boomed, stepping forward to greet him. "Good to see you again!"

"Thank you, sir. It's good to see you, too."

"And who is this lovely young woman?" he said as he turned to Brandt.

"Daddy, this is my friend, Suzanne Brandt. Suzanne, this is my father."

"Welcome to the Cottage, Suzanne."

He closed both hands around hers. Discovering a surprisingly strong grip hidden in his soft palms, she made a quick study of him. Unlike Ruth, he didn't remind her of a cupcake although he was small and round-cheeked. He had a bulbous nose and a bit of a paunch that was nearly hidden by the heavy texture of his sweater. His hair, a dark, muddy color, had fought a losing battle with his forehead and was retreating to the high ground. He had a tan that was more pink than bronze and his appearance would have been one of guileless geniality if not for the gaze of his sharp, gray-blue eyes. She thought he held her hand a little longer than necessary and finally managed to turn the grasp into a handshake, thinking perhaps that was how rich people were. After all, Ruth was terribly clinging.

"Thank you. It was so kind of you to invite me, Mr.--"

Suddenly she realized that she had no idea what Ruth's last name was, but before she could cover her gaffe with a sudden coughing fit, he interrupted.

"Now, no formality here. Call me Troy. And may I call you Suzie?"

"I prefer Suzanne."

"As well you should. It's a lovely name."

"Thank you." When he prompted her with a smile, she added, "Troy."

There was something about that smile that made her uncomfortable. It seemed overly intimate, even suggestive. She hoped her intelligence-gathering mission wasn't going to include an afternoon of making nice to Mr. Cupcake.

"Have you been to the Monterey Peninsula before, my dear?"

"No, this is my first trip down the coast."

"And what do you think?"

"It's beautiful. More than beautiful."

"Yes, it's unbelievable, isn't it?"

He puffed proudly as if he were personally responsible for the stunning vistas she'd seen through the windows of the aircar he'd sent for Ruth and her friends.

No, not a cupcake, she thought. More like...bread dough on the rise.

He turned to Kirk and said heartily, "Jim, are you ready to give me a run for my money in a game of chess later on?"

"I'm going to try, sir."

Their host laughed heartily and Brandt noted that the invitation to call him Troy had not been extended to Kirk.

"Suzanne, will you come in with me?" Troy asked, offering his arm.

"That depends on where we're going."

He laughed again. "You're a naughty little flirt, aren't you?"

"I didn't mean--"

"I know exactly what you meant." He offered his arm again and she had no choice but to take it. "You and I are going to get along just fine, I can tell," he murmured warmly as he put his hand over hers and led her up the stone steps.

Accompanying him into the house, Brandt wondered which was the correct fork to use when fending off your host's unwanted advances.

***

Three hours later, Brandt sat in a chaise lounge on the deck, inhaling the sharp, fresh air and watching the dramatic play of clouds and sea. She could hear the honking of the sea lions as they played on the rocks below and she briefly considered going to the railing to watch them. But she felt more stuffed than the crab she'd had for lunch and she decided to conserve her energy for the task ahead.

"Suzanne, I've brought you a shawl. It's a little cold out here."

She looked up and saw Ruth offering her a light green wrap. As Ruth settled into the other chaise, Brandt drew the shawl around her shoulders and buried her hands in the soft folds.

"Thanks. This is lovely."

"Daddy brought it back for me from Janus Two. Or Three. Which one has the poison atmosphere?"

"Two."

"Then I guess it must be Three. Or was it Mars? Anyway, it's not my color." She pulled her own shawl--the palest pink--around her shoulders.

"How's the chess game going?"

"Daddy won't even speak to me when he's playing chess but I stuck my head into the library and Jim waved. He's so sweet."

"Mmmm," Brandt responded absently, wondering how she could turn the conversation in a more fruitful direction. She held her silence as a servbot floated out of the house, bearing a small parson's table and a tea tray. Once the two girls had been served, the bot retreated and much to Brandt's surprise, Ruth dove right into the topic that she had been hoping to introduce.

"Suzanne, is it true that Jim's had a lot of girlfriends?"

"Well, I don't know what went on in Iowa," she said, carefully sipping her tea, "but I've known him for a year and you're the seventh so far."

"Oh, dear."

"What's the matter? Do you think he's seeing someone else?"

"Oh, no, it's just that...well, you know that Gary introduced us, don't you?"

"Yes, but how did you know Gary?"

"I didn't really. He came in to the store and said he was looking for something special and, well, he didn't buy anything but he was very nice. I was sure he was going to ask me out, especially when he came back the next week. But he had Jim with him and Jim asked first."

"Uh huh."

"Anyway, after Jim and I went out, Gary came back to the store and told me he was sorry he had introduced us because Jim has had so many girlfriends and he thought I deserved better than that."

"Riiiiight."

"But I really liked Jim so I asked Gary what I should do and he said that the best way to hang onto a boy like Jim is to not give him what he wants. So I've been very careful--"

"I bet you have."

"Oh yes. But now..."

"Yes? Now?"

"Oh, this is so hard to talk about."

"Just spit it out, Ruth."

"All right." She took a deep breath. "When-I-slept-in-his-tent-on-the- camping-trip-he-was-just-so-sweet-and-concerned-for-me-and-we-started- kissing-and--and--"

"AND?"

Ruth shut her eyes tight, pressed her fists against her cheeks, and blurted in an urgent whisper, "Ilethimtouchmybreasts!"

It took Brandt a moment to realize that she had just heard the entire substance of Ruth's confession. She put a concerned expression on her face and said, "Wow. Your breasts, huh? Both of them?"

Ruth nodded quickly. "Just through my nightgown, though."

"Oh. Whew."

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea, Suzanne."

"I know. You're a nice girl."

"I am, but I'm not...I'm not exactly...you know."

"No, you've lost me now."

"Well, Jim isn't the first boy I've done that with. In fact, I've done a little more than that--please don't tell Jim any of this, all right?"

"Cross my heart."

"My boyfriend before Jim--his name was Gardiner--we did more than that but we'd been dating for two years! And now I'm afraid that Jim will think that I'm not very special after all."

"Oh, no, you're special all right."

"Thank you, Suzanne. You're so sweet. But Gary and I had it all planned out and Jim wasn't supposed to touch me that way until Christmas."

"Gary planned this for you?" Brandt sputtered.

"Yes. He's been so helpful. It's nothing to be upset about, Suzanne. He knows Jim so well and he has his best interests at heart. He told me so."

Brandt took a beat to silently vow that Mitchell would pay for his little scheme. Then she continued in a tightly controlled voice.

"Ruth. Number one: Don't listen to Gary. Number two: If you want to sleep with Jim, do it."

"Oh, I don't want to sleep with him."

"You don't?"

"Well, not yet. I think that's something a boy has to earn, don't you?"

"Uh, exactly how does he go about earning it?"

"You know!" She clicked her tongue irritably. "Suzanne, I'm starting to think you've never been on a date."

"I've been on plenty of dates but I think mine were different than yours. Tell me about this earning business."

"Well, you don't let a boy do something just because he wants to. It's like baseball. What fun would it be if he made a touchdown every time?"

"I think he'd think that was a lot of fun."

"But what about me? I want to have fun, too. And my kind of fun isn't the same as his kind of fun."

"It isn't?"

"No, of course it isn't. So if he wants to have his kind of fun, he better give me lots of my kind of fun first."

"What's your kind of fun?"

"Making him earn his kind of fun." She snickered naughtily. "If he takes me nice places and buys me presents and tells me how pretty I am, then he can have some of his kind of fun. But if he tries to have too much fun, I stop him. And then if he tells me how much he loves me and needs me and dreams of me at night, well, then maybe he won't have to wait too long before he can have a little more fun. Especially if he pouts a little. They're such darlings when they pout, aren't they? But if he's mean to me or makes me cry, then it's going to be a long time before he has any fun at all. But the key to the whole thing is that each time he earns a little fun, you have to make him think he's going to have more than he really is. I don't know why I have to explain this to you, Suzanne. Gary understood it completely."

"I'll bet he did. Ruth, there's a word for what you're doing."

"I know. It's called being smart."

"It's called being a cocktease."

"No, it isn't! I like it. And besides, I think my grandmother knows more about it than you do."

"Your grandmother is in on this?"

"Don't be silly. But she's very smart, even if she does talk a little rough sometimes."

"What does she say?"

"One night at dinner, Daddy was explaining my inheritance to me and he told me to be sure I hung onto it because as long as women control their own money, men can't take advantage of them. And Grandmamma laughed and said, 'It doesn't matter how much money women control as long as they control 100% of the--" Ruth's eyes moved from side to side nervously. Then she dropped her voice to an almost inaudible tone and said, "'Pussy.'"

"What?"

" Pussy . Grandmamma said, 'Women have the lock on that commodity and don't you ever forget it.' And I never have. As long as I make Jim earn it, I'm in control of it."

"Ruth, just how much pussy are you in control of?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you a virgin?"

"Well, yes. And that's the point. I think Jim might be the one for me. But I'm afraid he won't think I'm the one for him if I do things like let him touch my breasts when we've only been going out for two and a half months."

"Ruth, don't worry about it. I think you already hold some kind of record."

"Really? So what should I do at Christmas? Should I let him get under my bra? Because Gary thought that shouldn't happen until Valentine's Day."

Brandt leaned across the table and spoke in her most earnest voice, unconsciously imitating the tone of the headmistress whose firm lectures had been a staple of Brandt's adolescence and whose every word had seemed laden with irrefutable wisdom.

"Ruth, forget everything Gary told you. Now listen to me. The next time you're alone with Jim, let him get under your bra, down your panties, and into that commodity you've got a lock on. Don't let that farmboy business fool you. Jim has pretty sophisticated tastes and he's not going to wait forever."

"Oh, no no no no no. No offense, Suzanne, but I think Gary's right. And I think my grandmother's right. And come to think of it, I think I'm right, too, because Gardiner was still willing to wait after two years and he'd been to Risa. " She nodded wisely and then added in a determined voice, "I'm going to have a lot more of my kind of fun before Jim has his."

The servbot floated out onto the deck, deposited a plate of cookies on the table, and left. As Brandt bit into a sugary maid of honor, the sea lions' braying rose to a taunting clamor.

***

True to his word, Kirk made sure Brandt was out on the deck at sunset, which was spectacular. The rocky cliffs tapered around the bay in sharp black relief against the fiery colors that had splashed across the sky. From below, the cries of the sea lions were louder than ever and nearly covered the sound of breaking waves.

Brandt looked down and saw another dark shape. Ruth had taken Kirk down to the lower deck, which jutted out from the house like the bow of a ship, and now they stood together, still except for the movement of Ruth's shawl flapping in the wind. Kirk bent his head to Ruth's shoulder just as a sharp gust swept in, carrying Ruth's playful scolding to Brandt's ears.

"Don't do that, you bad boy!"

Brandt shuddered and pulled her wrap tighter around her shoulders. She was still reeling from the peculiar combination of shrewdness and naivete that Ruth had revealed that afternoon and hearing this latest manifestation made her want to shout, "Kirk, you idiot! Can't you see what she's doing?"

But a plan had begun to form in her mind and, eager to mull it over without distractions, she decided to go down to the lower deck and drop some not-so-subtle hints about returning to San Francisco. But at that moment, she felt a pair of arms coil around her and heard Troy whisper, "Beautiful sunset, isn't it?"

Brandt took a small step to one side which had the unintended effect of allowing Troy's hand to slip from her shoulder to her waist.

"You have a lovely home," she said.

"Troy," he whispered a gentle reminder. "Yes, it is lovely, but it's very lonely since my wife died two years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you. But let's not dwell on that. You're far too young and attractive to think about loneliness. You're full of life. Vitality. Passion."

With that, his hand moved lower and she tensed.

"Troy, I haven't completed all my combat training but I'm sure I can give you a demonstration you won't forget."

"I bet you could," he gloated, pulling her closer.

"Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. Remove your hand from my ass or I'll break it off and feed it to the sea lions."

"Of course. Is this better?" he asked as he grasped her breast.

She closed both hands around his wrist, twisted it sharply, and stepped behind him, pulling his hand into the small of his back. With a guttural cry, he doubled over and clawed at the air with his free hand. Brandt pushed him forward until he was leaning over the railing.

"Do we understand each other?" she whispered fiercely.

"Yes!" he gasped.

"Daddy!" came an annoyed voice from below. "Stop spying on us!"

"Sorry, my fault," Suzanne called out as she released her prisoner. "Your father wanted to know about hand-to-hand combat." She turned a feral smile on him. "I guess I got carried away."

"Well, don't break him!" Ruth scolded playfully. "He's the only daddy I've got."

Troy cleared his throat and called, "I'm fine, dear. I'm going in." Cradling his injured hand, he glowered at Brandt and added, "It's a little cold out here."

***

Around midnight, Brandt sat cross-legged on her bunk as she presented her findings to Fig, omitting her tussle with Troy and wrapping up her report with, "So what do you think?"

Sprawled on her own bunk, Fig stared at the ceiling for several pensive moments. Finally, she sat up and said, "It's the virgin part that I find interesting. How old is Ruth?"

"Nineteen."

"Really? I thought she was older."

"So did I. I think it's all that makeup. Hard to tell what's underneath. But Jim says she's nineteen. Same as you and me."

"That's my point. She's not the same as you and me. And you and I aren't even the same. How old were you your first time?"

"Sixteen."

"I was fifteen. See? Not everyone's hormones rage at the same rate."

"But what about the Cupcake?"

"Hmm. Let me get this straight." Fig got up and began pacing the narrow strip of floor between the two beds. "The Cupcake is a virgin and uber-tease and appears unwilling to relinquish either of those titles any time soon. She's had some excellent coaching from Mitchell--and how he knows so much about girls holding out might bear closer examination--not to mention her grandmother, apparently the galactic expert in sexual economics. And I think in this case, dear Grandmamma may be right--the shorter the supply, the greater the demand. It's a seller's market and it sounds like Kirk hasn't even made a down payment."

"Right." Brandt bounced to her knees eagerly. "So I figure that if Kirk can just get into the market, the thrill will wear off and he'll be ready to trade her in for a different model."

"True, but it sounds as if she's very aware of that. It seems to be the key to her whole plan. Of course, there may be a point of diminishing returns. The buyer could get so tired of being shut out of the market that he walks away."

"How likely is that, given that we're talking about Kirk?"

"Not very." Fig sank onto her bunk, clasped her hands together, and said earnestly, "Do you really want my advice?"

"Yes."

"Butt out."

At that moment, the door chime sounded and both girls called, "Come!"

The door slid open, admitting Kirk. Seeing that his hair was wet and his skin freshly scrubbed, Brandt sighed inwardly. Another shower.

"JT!" she said. "Have you brought us some late-night study treats?"

"Maybe he is our late-night study treat," Fig said, raising a seductive eyebrow.

Kirk chuckled. "Sorry to disappoint you, Fig, but I'm just here to talk to Brandt."

"I guess I'll have to find something else to satisfy my sweet tooth." She went to the desk and began digging through the candy jar near the computer.

"Just ignore her," Brandt said as she went to Kirk. "What's up?

"I wanted to ask you..." He paused as he glanced over at Fig, who was chewing a piece of toffee and watching them with undisguised interest.

Catching Fig's eye, Brandt jerked her head in the direction of the bathroom.

"Forget it." Fig crossed her arms defiantly. "I'm not going to sit in the head reading the shampoo bottle."

After giving Fig a quick glare, Brandt gestured toward the door to the bathroom. "Care to step into my office, JT?"

***

Taking a bottle from the shelf inside the shower, Kirk turned it in his hand and read, "'Lather. Rinse. Repeat.' Hardly compelling prose. I can't say I blame Fig."

"I can. I read that for forty-five minutes one night."

"And what was going on out there?" Kirk asked.

Brandt shook her head. "I'll never tell. So what's up?"

Kirk replaced the shampoo bottle and when he turned back to Brandt, his expression had turned serious.

"Did Ruth's father make a pass at you tonight?"

Brandt couldn't help admiring the way he got right to the point. She decided she'd have to remember that for future awkward situations.

"It's all right. I took care of it."

The line of Kirk's mouth hardened. "That dirty old--"

"JT, I said I took care of it." He gave her a dubious look so she added reassuringly, "And don't worry. I'm not going to say anything to Ruth."

His voice took on an irritated edge. "Is that why you think I came here? To ask you to keep quiet?"

"Isn't it?"

"No. I thought you might want me to say something to him. Or at least let you know I'm sorry it happened."

"Oh." She shifted from foot to foot, taken aback at his concern. "Well. That's very, um, thoughtful of you. But I can take care of myself."

"I know you can. I just thought maybe..." He gestured vaguely, dismissing the rest of that thought, and then he was back to his usual amicable self. "Never mind. I'm glad you're not upset. I'll see you tomorrow."

He squeezed past her, pressed the door control, and stepped into the outer room. Brandt followed him with a puzzled frown, saying absently, "Right. Tomorrow."

"That was a quick conference," Fig said as Kirk passed her.

"But fruitful," he replied. "Did you know there's an infinite causality loop outlined on your shampoo bottle?"

As soon as he was out of the room, Brandt sat on the edge of the desk and said, "You heard?"

"Of course."

"Comments?"

"Just one. How stupid can you be?"

"You think I should have told him about the Cupcake's timetable?"

"No, you dolt. You could have cut her out in nothing flat if you'd just acted like you needed a little sympathy!"

"Don't be ridiculous."

"It's true. I can't believe you let an opportunity like that slip through your fingers. Cards on the table, all right? It's obvious you want him for yourself--"

"Look, Fig, even if I did, and I'm not saying I do, but if I did, I wouldn't want to get him like that."

"I give up." Fig turned her attention to her monitor and snapped, "New file."

After several minutes of awkward silence, Brandt went to the closet and took her nightshirt off a hook. She undressed, pulled the nightshirt on over her head, and sat on her bunk. After giving her pillow a vigorous scrunch that failed to draw Fig's attention, she said, "I can't do that, Fig."

"Do what?" Fig replied, never turning her attention from her work.

"Act helpless."

"There's an ocean of difference between helplessness and letting someone help."

"I didn't exactly bite his head off."

"You didn't exactly make him feel appreciated either."

Another uncomfortable silence ensued until Fig, still working away, said, "So did her father really come on to you?"

"Yes."

"Hmm."

"What does that mean?"

"Just hmm."

"Come on, Fig."

"No, you don't seem to like my theories."

"I love your theories. They're the only entertainment I can afford."

Brandt smiled pleadingly until Fig stopped working and pushed the monitor to the side.

"All right. If you'd encouraged him a little, you could have become the Cupcake's stepmother."

Brandt stared at her for a moment and then lay down, saying, "Good night, Fig."

"Then you'd be rich enough to hire a huntsman to take her into the woods and bring you back her heart."

Brandt sat up and stammered out the beginning of several rebuttals before settling on, "As if I'd delegate something like that!"

"True. Never send a man to do a woman's job."

"Besides, I have a better plan."

"Let's hear it."

***

Five minutes later, Brandt once again asked, "So what do you think?"

"Mitchell won't go along with it and Kirk won't fall for it," Fig declared and turned her attention back to the monitor.

"Mitchell will jump at it. It will appeal to his ego. And Kirk isn't going to question anything that helps him break the Cupcake's monopoly."

"I don't know."

"Can you think of anything better? And don't say, 'Butt out.'"

"In that case..." Grinning wickedly, she turned the monitor toward Brandt, displaying a ghostly face that eerily intoned,

Though you, O Brandt, are passing fair,  
The Cupcake is beyond compare.

"Good night, Fig," Brandt said firmly, flopping into her bunk with an air of finality.

"It's really too bad you didn't try Operation: Huntsman on the camping trip. You already had her in the woods. But there's always the arboretum..."

"Good night, Fig!"

"I know a dwarf," she added helpfully.

"I'm not interested in your extracurricular activities."

"I'm sure he has some friends."

"Now I'm really not interested."

"Don't you want to know his name?" Fig asked.

Brandt ended the conversation by faking a loud snore.

***

An hour later, Fig was shaken awake.

"All right, what's his name?"

"Huh?"

"Your dwarf. What's his name?"

"Oh. Humpy."

Their shrieks of laughter were met with a sharp pounding on the other side of the wall and a cry of "Shut up, you harpies!"

After that, they muffled their voices until 0200, when they finally gave up on naming Humpy's friends.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning, Brandt found Mitchell seated at the end of a long table in the mess hall. Setting her tray next to his, she sat down and asked, "Where's Kirk?"

Mitchell yawned. "I don't know. I don't care."

With a expression of mild surprise, Brandt began spreading a thick coating of jam across her toast.

"He came in after one and woke me up trying to sneak in quietly," Mitchell continued crossly. "Then he was up again at five and dropped his study padd on his way out."

"What was he doing up at five?"

"He said he had assignments to grade. And he better be damned generous with mine." Mitchell yawned again and sluggishly pushed his scrambled eggs around on his plate. "How was Monterey?"

"Interesting," Brandt said, poking at the hard yolks on her plate. "And speaking of Ruth..."

In a swift barrage, she made three sharp stabbing motions: one egg yolk, the other egg yolk, and the back of Mitchell's hand.

"OW! What was that for?"

"That's for coaching the Cupcake," she said pleasantly as she switched her plate with his. She took a mouthful of scrambled eggs and said, "Mmmm, these are good. Thanks, Mitchell."

"What do you mean, coaching the Cupcake?" He brought his hand to his mouth and began sucking on it.

"Don't bother playing innocent. She told me the whole story."

"She did? All right." His tone turned adamant. "Yes, I've been helping her. I had to! As long as Kirk is preoccupied with pleasing her, he isn't making the rest of us miserable. I did it for the good of the class. Esprit de corps and all that."

"Oh, bullshit. You did it for your own selfish entertainment."

"You're not in that class. You don't know what he's like."

"No, but I know what you're like, you wolf in midshipman's clothing."

"Brat, give me a break. I'm through worrying about Jim and Ruth. I have enough problems of my own."

Brandt stopped eating as a slow-moving tingle of trepidation straightened her spine.

"What problems?" she asked tightly.

"Marguerite and I broke up."

Brandt's fork clattered to her plate. "Oh, no! That's terrible! What are you going to do?"

"I don't know." He gave a sullen shrug.

"Well, you've got to get her back right away."

"I don't think I want her back."

"Do you think you can find another girlfriend fast--a hot one?"

His eyes sharp with suspicion, he asked, "What do you care?"

"I just think you should have a girlfriend," she said with forced naturalness.

"What's with you lately? First you're all bugged out about Kirk's love life and now you're more upset about Marguerite than I am."

She pursed her lips as she ran her fingers through her hair.

"Spill it, Brat," he said sternly.

With an air of unhappy defeat, she revealed the plan his breakup had wrecked.

"I wanted the two of you to start double-dating with Kirk and the Cupcake. Thanks to you and her grandmother, she's got sex all mixed up with sports and economics and holidays. I figure if they spend some time with a more adult couple, Ruth will get curious about what she's missing. Once he gets some, he'll get over her."

"So I'm the demo?" He snarled the last word as if it left a bad taste in his mouth.

"Pretty much. So how fast can you get another girlfriend?"

"I can get a girlfriend anytime I want, but I don't think I want one just to play Monkey See, Monkey Do for the Cup--er, Ruth."

"Look, Gary, I'm only asking you to do this because you're Jim's friend. Don't you see that the sooner they get off the mark, the sooner he'll get over her and move onto someone who doesn't make us sick?"

"She doesn't make me sick."

"Yes, she does. You just pretend she doesn't to piss me off."

For the first time that morning, he smiled. "That's true. Pretty effective, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is." She nodded emphatically. "You're such a good actor , Gary. You really had me fooled. I'm sure you could go out with a Denebian slime devil and convince Jim and Ruth you were hot for her. With a real girl, it'll be a cinch."

"I don't know. It seems pretty under-handed."

"Please, Gary. For Jim?"

He looked thoughtful as he switched their plates and ate the remainder of his former breakfast. Then he sipped her tea, added more sugar to it, and said abruptly, "I don't think so."

"Think of all those showers. He's practically an environmental hazard. I think you owe it to the Academy, if not to him." She lifted her fork menacingly. "And if you don't do it, I'm going to tell him that you set this whole thing up. He'll be pissed as hell and he'll also be very hurt. So we have to get him to dump her on his own and this is the best way."

There was a moment of stubborn tension. Then he put his hand around hers and slowly lowered the fork to the table. His eyes glinting devilishly, he said, "I've got a better idea. How about if you and I double-date with them? You're not quite as repulsive as a slime devil, but it'll keep it interesting for me. And of course, we'd just be pretending."

"Jim would never believe it." She pulled her hand away.

"But I'm such a good actor . And it shouldn't be that much of a stretch for you to indulge in a little heavy breathing with me."

"No."

"If you do it, you'll be able to supervise the whole thing. You won't have to worry about some other girl screwing it up. It'll be your show."

"Mitchell, you're just trying to use Jim's problem to get me into bed."

"Why, Brat, what conceit! You're not even my type. I was only thinking of Jim. And the Academy. And all those showers."

Now it was her turn to chew thoughtfully on her ex-breakfast. After choking down a mouthful of rubbery eggs and washing it down with over-sweetened tea, she asked, "I'd be in charge?"

"Absolutely."

"And no funny business."

"Of course not."

"We're just going to pretend, you know. Nothing is going to happen between us."

"It never entered my mind."

"All right. Set something up with them for Saturday. I know! Let's go to a tri-vee. 'Full Moon Over Tavereth' is playing."

"I don't want to see that romantic pap."

"I've heard it's sexy as hell."

"All right. You know, Brat--" He slipped his arm around her shoulder. "--I think you and I should go on at least one date alone first. To make it look legitimate."

"Good thinking. We'll go out to dinner tomorrow night. But we're going dutch."

"We'll have to stay out longer than just dinner if it's going to be convincing."

"Right." She thought for a moment and then announced, "After dinner, we'll go bowling."

She picked up her tray and headed for the trash station. Mitchell followed and as she slid her tray into the caddy, he leaned over her shoulder and growled, "Have I ever told you about my bowling shoe fetish?"

***

That Saturday night, Mitchell set the flitter down in the shadows under the Golden Gate Bridge, determined to make up for the fact that 'Full Moon Over Tavereth' had turned out to be merely romantic and not sexy at all. Aware of Kirk and Ruth cuddling in the back seat, he slid over to Brandt. She responded rather indifferently to his advance but, much to his surprise, she lay down after only two kisses.

Damn, this was a good idea, he thought as he followed her down.

And it really did seem that way until she greeted him by rasping into his ear, "Stop slobbering on my neck."

"Tell me what you want, baby," he purred seductively.

"For starters, don't call me baby. And--"

A sigh of "Ohhh, Jim darling" floated over the seat.

"Try doing a little of that," she ordered.

Starting to feel irritated, he obediently echoed, "Ohhh, Jim darling." Brandt responded by pulling his hair and Kirk growled, "Mind your own business, Mitchell."

Which was exactly was Mitchell intended to do, but his next efforts revealed to him that Brandt had flopped down on the seat because she had no intention of doing anything once they were out of sight.

Thus began the strangest make-out session Gary Mitchell had ever been a party to. She fought him off very effectively while punctuating her defense with moans of "Oh, Gary" and "Yes, that's it." When he began participating in the audio portion of the program, she whispered, "Good, good," which under other circumstances he might have found very pleasing. But after twenty minutes of verbal encouragement played in counterpoint against the physical threat of her knee wedged between his thighs, he'd had enough. He sat up and gave a quick glance into the back seat, where he saw Kirk and Ruth in the same position in which he'd last seen them. Kissing and wrapped in each other's arms but fully upright.

He leaned his head on the console, thinking that maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.

***

Standing at the window of her expensively appointed apartment, Ruth stopped dropping items into her purse and waved down at the street.

"I think Suzanne and Gary make the cutest couple, don't you, Jim darling?" she said.

Kirk shrugged, thinking that his two friends made a weird couple. From what he'd seen--and in the past three weeks of non-stop double-dating, he'd seen more of them than he really wanted to--they appeared to have two dynamics: making fun of each other and making out with each other, both done as loudly as possible. Strangely enough, Ruth didn't seem to mind a bit. In fact, she was enthusiastically encouraging the noisy courtship, although courtship was probably too dignified a word for it. And now Mitchell and Brandt were waiting down on the street, ready to begin yet another evening that would end with irritating predictability.

Kirk had actually felt he was making a little headway in the physical side of his relationship with Ruth, but the constant presence of Brandt and Mitchell had put a stop to that. The situation wasn't made any more tolerable by all the panting and groaning that emanated from the front seat of Mitchell's flitter during the last hour of every date--something else he was getting damn tired of, especially since Ruth's responses to his own romantic overtures had been downgraded from "darling, not yet" to "darling, please don't."

He sourly debated the chances that tonight would end any differently. If events ran true to form--and much to his dismay, he couldn't think of any reason why they shouldn't--Mitchell would stop curbside in front of Ruth's apartment, pull Brandt closer--even though that seemed physically impossible--and give Kirk a knowing look as he asked, "Want me to wait?"

With an optimism that refused to even acknowledge the possibility of defeat, Kirk would say, "I'll get back on my own," and escort Ruth upstairs, where they would hold hands and kiss and maybe even wrestle a little on the soft, wide sofa until Ruth declared the evening at an end. Then Kirk would drag his over-stimulated body out onto the street and wait until the transit bus showed up to take him back to the Academy, where he would creep past his sleeping roommate--whose date doubtless wore a similar smile while fast asleep in her own room--and indulge himself in yet another shower.

And Ruth thought they made "the cutest couple."

"Ready!" Ruth called out brightly.

As they rode down in the lift, he asked, "Ruth, what made you decide you wanted to see a fly-in picture?"

"Suzanne told me about it. She says they're wonderful."

"How often are you seeing her?"

Ruth shrugged. "A couple of times a week. She loves going out for coffee."

"What do the two of you find to talk about?"

"Girl things."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I'm not going to tell you, silly. Then they wouldn't be girl things."

The lift doors opened, and as they walked across the smooth marble of the lobby, Kirk wondered if he had made a mistake in promoting the friendship between the two women.

***

Brandt approached the cafe, her stomach already turning at the thought of another cup of coffee. She'd come to associate coffee with all-night cram sessions and rarely drank it by choice rather than necessity, but the Cupcake apparently lived on the loathsome stuff so she'd been gulping it down twice a week for over a month, hoping to break down Ruth's defenses. She only hoped Kirk was working as hard at his end of things.

There was a delicate tap-tap-tap at the window. Brandt looked down to see Ruth waving her in. Pasting a happy expression on her face, she squared her shoulders and entered the Keen Bean, which, true to its name, served no beverage other than coffee.

"I ordered you a strawberry mocha," Ruth said when Brandt joined her at the small table. "It's the coffee of the month."

For the next twenty minutes, Brandt pretended to drink while Ruth shared all the latest gossip of San Francisco's hoi polloi. Now, as Ruth described her aunt's horror at picking up Viscount Wesley from the grooming parlor and finding her precious Rigellian silver-tipped spaniel had been given a poodle cut, Brandt used the time to devise yet another way to bring the conversation around to the joys of sex.

Spying a young man near her own age at another table, she made a quick decision. When Ruth wrapped up the story with her aunt's decision to never patronize Mr. Paul's Puppy Palace ever again, Brandt looked once again in the young man's direction and gave a loud gasp of surprise.

"Stephen?" she cried and hurried over to him.

"No, I'm sorry," the startled boy replied.

"Oh, forgive me. From over there, you looked like someone I used to know. I'm very sorry."

When she returned to her table, Ruth was bubbling over with curiosity.

"Who was that?"

"How embarrassing," Brandt said, wishing she could blush on cue. "I thought he was Stephen. He looked just like him."

"Who's Stephen?"

Brandt smiled, glad to see she'd hooked the Cupcake just by dropping a male name.

"Haven't I told you about him? Stephen was the boy I went out with before I came to San Francisco."

"No, you never told me!" Ruth chirped. She turned and looked at the boy who wasn't Stephen. "He looked like him? Oh, he's cute!" She scooted her chair closer to Brandt's. "Tell me everything. Did you date him for long? Was he nice?"

"Oh, yes, he was very nice." Brandt gave what she hoped was a wistful smile, which Ruth zeroed in on immediately.

"What? What was so nice about him?"

Finding she could blush on cue, Brandt whispered, "He was my first."

"Your first? Your first date? Where did you go?"

"Not my first date, my first...you know."

She underscored her statement with a significant look that she held until the meaning registered with Ruth. It was an inefficient means of communication but she'd found that the Cupcake would rarely talk about sex in any terms other than the most oblique.

"Oh!" Ruth looked around the room as if they'd been caught stealing the creamer. "You slept with him?"

Brandt nodded and took a sip of coffee, so intent on her own performance that she didn't even wince at the taste.

"I still miss him sometimes. You probably think I'm silly--"

"Oh no! Not at all!" Ruth cried.

"He was just so sweet and loving and...I shouldn't talk about this."

"Yes, you should!"

"Are you sure you don't mind? It's not the sort of thing I can share with just anybody."

"Oh, Suzanne. I would love to hear about him. Honest."

"Well...when I first met Stephen, I knew right away he was the one. He was good-looking and smart and considerate and...well, I just knew. We started going out and I could tell he really cared about me, but he respected me, too. Sometimes, when we were together, I thought I would do anything for him. So one night, we went up into the woods above the reservoir. There was a full moon and it was so quiet and romantic, like that scene in 'Full Moon Over Tavereth,' remember?"

Ruth nodded eagerly.

"Stephen had even brought candles. He spread his jacket on the ground for me to sit on--"

Ruth rested her cheek on her hand and gave a covetous moan.

"And then he said, 'I love you, Suzanne. I would do anything for you.'"

"He said that? Just like what you were thinking?"

Brandt nodded. "Just like that. And right then, I knew. So I said, 'Stephen, I love you, too. And I want you to do something for me.'"

"You told him what you wanted?"

"No, not really. But I kissed him and I kept on kissing him and when he began touching me, I didn't stop him."

Ruth's hands shook as she waved away the approaching servbot.

"And then you--you--?"

"Yes. And it was wonderful. It's true what they say--the first time really is the best. And I know this sounds hokey but that night, I finally knew what it was to be a woman and to be loved."

Holy shit, she thought as she felt her heartbeat quicken. I've found my inner cupcake.

"And afterwards--"

"Yes?"

"Afterwards, he held me and told me he loved me, over and over. He said he couldn't even find words to tell me how much he loved me and then..." She dropped her voice to the warmest, most intimate tone she could manage. "He cried."

The air went out of Ruth like a teakettle being removed from the stove and Brandt let the silence play itself out as Ruth stared dreamily into space.

Not-Stephen got up and came over to their table.

"About what happened earlier?" he said.

"Yes?" Brandt replied.

"I could be Stephen, if you want."

"No, thank you," Brandt said, mentally filing away the Stephen bit for future use.

"Well, I just thought I'd try. So long."

After he left, Ruth hissed, "Stephen wouldn't do something like that, would he? Try to pick someone up that way?"

"Oh, no! Stephen was much classier than that."

"Why did you break up?"

"Well, we didn't exactly break up, but he was going to college on Theta 7 and we decided it would be better to meet other people and see how we felt about each other in a few years. But..."

"But what?"

"Stephen was on the Tritanic when it went down."

"Oh, no! Oh, Suzanne! I'm so sorry. How awful for you!" Almost in tears, Ruth sniffled daintily and tossed two more sugar cubes into her coffee. "Is that why you didn't go out with anyone until Gary?"

Brandt nodded sadly. "Please don't tell anyone. I couldn't stand it if everyone knew."

"My lips are sealed." She did a quick pantomime of zipping her mouth.

"That's why I'm glad he was the first, because otherwise...well, you know."

"Oh, yes, I understand."

"You know, being in Starfleet is a very dangerous line of work but until I fell in love with Stephen, I never thought about what that would mean to someone else. He used to say he didn't know what he would do if anything happened to me but he never tried to stop me. Now I know what that's like and... Well, I just want to tell you how much I admire you, Ruth."

"Me?"

"Yes. It takes a very special person to love someone who's in Starfleet."

"Suzanne..." Ruth curled into herself uncomfortably.

"Yes?"

"I still haven't slept with Jim yet."

Brandt gave a regretful sigh. "That's your decision, Ruth, and I'm sure Jim respects you for it."

"He does. I'm sure he does."

"Just..." Brandt fumbled around for a moment to build the tension. "Don't wait too long. Sometimes the only way I can stand to think about Stephen is by reminding myself that at least we had that much together."

She flagged the servbot as Ruth wiped away a delicate tear. After gracefully surrendering to Ruth's insistence on paying the check, she accompanied her out to the street and helped her hail a taxi. As it ascended to the curb, Ruth squeezed Brandt's hand and said, "Thank you for telling me all that, Suzanne."

"Thank you for listening."

"But I just don't know what to do! About Jim, I mean." Her voice began to tremble. "He's going on a training cruise soon and what if... Well, I thought about what you said the other day, about it not being a game with points and prizes but... Oh, you'll think I'm terrible, but I like that game! And he's so cute when he begs!"

Brandt was so taken aback at the thought of Kirk begging that Ruth was in the cab before she could react. She stuck her head in the window just as Ruth said, "Marina Boulevard and--"

"Ruth, I bet he's even cuter when he says 'thank you.'"

She was still smiling emphatically when the cab lifted away from the street and disappeared among the buildings. As she walked to the transit stop, she felt sick, partly from the coffee and partly from playing on the Cupcake's emotions so callously, but mostly from remembering the fumbling, inept weasel to whom she'd surrendered her virginity, only to have him brag about it to anyone who would listen. Not that he'd done much talking after she knocked his front teeth out.


	7. Chapter 7

Just before midnight, distracted from his own action by the moaning coming from the front of the flitter, Kirk decided that if he had to listen to one more exchange of "Yes, Gary, yes" and "Oh, baby, that's good," he would reach over the seat and strangle them both. At that moment, however, Ruth's hand dropped onto his thigh and hope wasn't the only thing that rose expectantly. He put a little more oomph into the kiss, remembering that only three nights ago, she'd finally gotten horizontal. Maybe tonight--"Jim darling, let's take a walk."

A walk! Alone together! At last!

"You don't mind, do you?" she continued. "I'm not really in a kissing mood."

Kirk swallowed hard and rubbed his forehead, mostly to keep from rubbing something else.

"Darling?" Ruth said soothingly. "I'm sorry, I'm just not--"

"In the mood. I know." With a heavy sigh, he tapped on the front seat. "We'll be back in a while."

"Sure," Mitchell gasped from out of the darkness. "Take your time."

***

After moaning for a few moments longer, Brandt whispered, "They're gone."

"Good!" Mitchell slid his hand under her skirt.

"Gary, no!"

"Aw, hell, Brandt, give me a break!"

"No--Gary--Gary--I said no !" She shoved him away as she pushed up into a sitting position and scooted to the far end of the seat.

He sat up and stared out into the night, breathing heavily. Finally, he looked at her through slitted eyes and demanded, "What's with you?"

"What's with you ?"

"Brandt, I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this. I want a real girlfriend."

"Forget it. I told you I don't sleep with my friends."

"If we keep going on like this, we'll be enemies."

"We agreed that nothing was going to happen."

"I've changed my mind."

"I haven't."

"You know what? You're a worse cocktease than Ruth is."

"I am not!"

"You are, too!"

"You knew the rules, buddy boy."

"If that isn't a cocktease line--"

"Stop saying that!"

"Brat, listen. I'm taking more showers than Kirk and I have to take mine secretly!"

"Gary, just a little longer--"

"No. This is our last date. As soon as we get back to the Academy, you can consider yourself officially dumped."

They withdrew into their individual sulks until Kirk and Ruth returned. The flitter started with an angry growl and once aloft, the silence was unbroken until they swung around the bridge and started east above the Embarcadero.

"Look!" Ruth cried. "Freddie's is still open! Let's stop!"

"Ruth, I'm tired," Brandt replied crossly.

"Oh, please! I haven't eaten all day!"

"Gary, why don't you just drop us off?" Kirk asked.

"No, I could go for a burger," Mitchell said with a nasty smile at Brandt. "Good idea, Ruth. Freddie's it is."

***

Ruth slid into the booth and smiled up at Kirk.

"The usual, please, darling."

"One Galactic Virgin coming up."

Kirk headed to the crowded bar, not seeing Brandt following behind him. Mitchell reached out and pulled her back.

"Let go of me," she snapped. "I can get my own drink."

"Brandt, you can't possibly be so angry that you're going to pass up a free drink."

She fumed silently for a moment and then said, "Beer. Something imported. From far away."

"I'll get you for that," Mitchell said and began working his way through the crowd.

As Brandt sat down, Ruth reached across the table and put her hand on Brandt's forearm.

"Did you and Gary have a fight?"

Ruth's quiet sympathy grated on Brandt's already sour mood and she pulled her arm away, saying, "It's nothing."

"There are weeds in paradise, Suzanne."

"Oh, and how are things in your little Garden of Eden?" Brandt retorted, surprising herself with the venom in her voice.

Ruth's eyes widened with baby-blue hurt and Brandt instantly regretted her outburst. Feeling like she had just kicked a kitten, she patted Ruth's hand and said, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have snapped at you."

"It's all right." Ruth's cheeks nearly popped from all the sympathy she was exuding. "What are girlfriends for?"

A lilting brogue cut off Brandt's intended reply.

"Well, if it isn't the sweetest girl to ever grace a sludge tank. How are you, darlin'?"

Smiling warmly, Finnegan slid into the booth until he was shoulder to shoulder with Brandt.

"Hello, Danny," she muttered.

"I've been hearing the most terrible rumors about you, Suzanne. They're saying that you're spending even more of your time with those two neer-do-wells, Kirk and Mitchell. I've heard you've even been seen out in public with them. Tell me it isn't true."

"Stow it, Finnegan. Did you come over here for a reason?"

"Excuse me," Ruth interrupted in a tight voice. "Are you the Finnegan who plays all those horrible tricks?"

"Well, I prefer to think of them as clever recreational activities, but I suppose I must plead guilty. Daniel B. Finnegan, at your service. And you are...?"

"Mr. Finnegan, I think you'd better leave. My boyfriend will be here any minute and I don't think you'll be welcome at our table."

"And who might your boyfriend be?"

"James T. Kirk." Ruth imbued the three syllables with more importance than Brandt would have thought possible.

Finnegan responded with a braying burst of laughter. "Oh, it's young Jimmy, is it? Where is the little plebe?"

"Danny, don't--" Brandt started.

"He's right over there." Ruth lifted her chin and pointed toward the bar in a sweeping gesture. "And Gary Mitchell is with him."

"Well, that's no surprise. The way those two buddy up, you'd think they were sweethearts."

"Oh! How can you say something like that?" Ruth cried. "Jim loves me! And even though they just had a spat, Gary and Suzanne are meant for each other."

Finnegan turned toward Brandt, a wry smile spreading across his face.

"I thought you told me you don't date your friends."

Before Brandt could reply, Ruth proclaimed, "Obviously, she made an exception for Gary. A decision that I applaud."

To drive home her point, she clapped her hands together in a fluttery gesture that was almost as prissy as the expression on her face.

"Is that true, Suzanne?" Finnegan asked. "Is Mitchell so exceptional?"

"He most certainly is!" Ruth said.

Finnegan gave a low, dangerous laugh as he turned to Ruth. "Not to be rude, miss, but I wasn't talking to you."

"You are rude. Very rude. Anyone can see that Suzanne doesn't want to talk to you."

"If that's true, I'd like to hear it from her. Or is it asking too much for you to shut your snippy little trap that long?"

"How! Dare! You!" Ruth sprang to her feet, her little fists quivering with rage.

"Danny, leave!" Brandt pushed Finnegan out of the booth. "I'll talk to you later!"

"What's going on here?"

All three turned toward Kirk's quiet anger. Mitchell stood at his side, looking equally ominous.

"JIM!" Ruth shrieked in a voice that rattled Brandt's sinuses. "HE INSULTED ME!"

Reining in his hostility with a visible effort, Kirk turned to Finnegan and said quietly, "I think you should apologize."

"Apologize? Well, if it will make you happy... Jimmy, I'm sorry that you can't get a better date than this ill-bred tart who's got more paint on her than Farmer Flynn's barn."

Kirk lunged at him but he danced away laughing and waving his hands in a taunting invitation. Brandt threw herself into the middle of the tense scene.

"Jim, stop! Danny, what's the matter with you? You told me you respected girls."

"What! You don't mean!" Finnegan stepped around Brandt and presented himself before Ruth, both hands clasped to his heart. "Oh! Please, please accept my most profound apologies. I didn't realize you were a girl. I thought you were an inflatable date with a bad personality program."

Ruth sputtered unintelligibly as Kirk drew back his fist and closed in on Finnegan, but by now the conflict had started to attract attention. With eager onlookers closing in, he had little room to maneuver and when a newcomer wandered into his path asking, "What's going on?" he barely managed to pull the punch.

Brandt took advantage of the momentary confusion and grabbed Finnegan by the collar. Dragging him away from the booth, she shouted, "Ruth, sit down! Mitchell, get--"

Finnegan suddenly ducked his head, stretched out his arms, and took two steps backward, leaving Brandt holding his now-empty shirt.

"What the--"

"Nice try, darlin', but this doesn't concern you," Finnegan said as he wagged a finger in her direction.

"Hey, you can't call my date darlin'," Mitchell said.

"It doesn't concern you either, Mitchell. Now sit down and entertain the ladies while Jimmy and I take our differences outside."

Kirk had worked his way back to the booth and upon hearing Finnegan's invitation, he responded with a hard smile.

"Good idea."

"Wait a minute!" Brandt roared. "Will you both just calm down?"

"Stay out of this, Brandt. You, too, Mitchell," Kirk said tersely. "Finnegan's right. This is between the two of us and it's about time we settled it."

The two rivals locked eyes, the loathing between them nearly corporeal.

"After you, Jimmy," Finnegan purred.

Kirk stalked to the door, roughly pushing his way through the crowd.

"Gary, talk him out of it," Brandt pleaded. "If the commandant finds out they were fighting in the street--"

"You're right," Mitchell said and hurried after Kirk. "Hey, Jim, hold on a minute!"

"Take one step out that door and you'll be next, Mitchell!" Finnegan called but Mitchell had already disappeared into the crowd. He turned to Brandt. "Don't worry, darlin'. Seeing as how you're so fond of Jimmy, I'll only break him into large pieces. Easily reassembled."

Then he chucked her under the chin and began making his way to the door, genially tapping people on the shoulder and murmuring, "Excuse me," as he followed his two opponents.

Ruth grabbed her purse with one hand and Brandt's hand with the other.

"Isn't it exciting?" she squealed. "Come on!"

She ran for the door, dragging a stunned Brandt along with her.

***

When they got to the street, they found that several other people had abandoned Freddie's for the more exciting action outside.

"Do you know what they're fighting about?" a young man with a wispy mustache asked as Ruth jostled him to one side.

"Me!" she cried.

"Let her through!" he shouted as he cleared a path from the doorway.

As Ruth pulled her out into the open, Brandt saw Finnegan leaning against a lamppost while Mitchell ran interference in front of Kirk.

"This isn't a dance recital, you know," Finnegan jeered. "I've got other things to do tonight."

"Mitchell, get out of my way," Kirk ordered through gritted teeth.

"Jim, listen. Don't be a patsy. You know he'll make sure it gets back to the commandant and it will sound like you threw the first punch."

"Better listen to him, Jimmy," Finnegan scolded. "I'm sure your little filly won't mind if you back down, not if it means dirtying your pretty face, not to mention your lily-white record."

Kirk leaped toward Finnegan, only to be stopped by Mitchell throwing his arms around his waist and dragging him back.

"Gary--" Kirk wrenched away. "I don't want to fight you as well as him. Now back off!"

Mitchell chewed his lip for a moment and then put his hand on Kirk's shoulder.

"You're sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"All right."

Mitchell turned away, then spun quickly and landed his fist on his roommate's jaw. Ruth gasped and clutched her purse to her bosom and Brandt couldn't help admiring the smoothness of Mitchell's deceptive move. Unfortunately, Kirk didn't have the glass jaw Mitchell had obviously been counting on. He staggered back, found his balance, and dove in Finnegan's direction only to be blocked once more by Mitchell. Kirk shook him off and stormed toward Finnegan but Mitchell grabbed at his shirt and spun him away from his target. The shirt tore, Kirk slammed into the sidewalk, and Mitchell jumped on him before he could recover.

"Jim, you can't--fight him--here!" Mitchell grunted.

"Like hell I can't!"

As Kirk and Mitchell rolled around punching and cursing, Finnegan sauntered past them, muttering, "Oh, for the love of Mike." He took his shirt from Brandt, who hadn't even realized she was still holding it.

"Do you think we can charge admission?" he asked as he shrugged into his shirt. Then he gestured to the ongoing battle and explained to the onlookers, "Lovers' quarrel!" Approaching the two men, he shook his head snidely. "Are you enjoying yourself there, Jimmy?"

Pinned under Mitchell, Kirk swung his leg out and nearly tripped Finnegan, but he jumped out of the way as the loud clang of a cablecar rang out.

"And there's my ride! You lads thrash it out and I'll take on the winner another time. Ladies, enjoy your evening!" he cried as he jumped aboard the rattling trolley.

As the cablecar disappeared over the hill, Brandt yelled at the two combatants, "Stop it! He's gone!"

But they were on their feet again, fists flying and knees buckling. To the delight of the bystanders, Brandt seized Ruth's purse and joined the fray.

"HE'S GONE!" she shouted, bashing their heads with the purse. "YOU'RE FIGHTING OVER NOTHING!"

"Huh? What?"

Mitchell turned toward Brandt and she delivered a back-handed blow to his chest that sent him reeling away from Kirk just as Kirk launched a flying leg kick into the space Mitchell had occupied. With no one there to take the impact, Kirk continued airborne until his foot shot through a sturdy hedge and he dropped to the ground. Mitchell meanwhile had stumbled across the sidewalk in a uneven grapevine step, finally coming to rest against his flitter. When Brandt approached, he waved her away, so she went to the spot where Kirk was twisting awkwardly in the grip of the thicket.

"Where's Finnegan?" he gasped as he pulled free.

"Probably crossing Bay Street by now," she said.

"Mitchell?"

"He's over there." Brandt jabbed the purse in the direction of the flitter. "Waiting for the bell for round two."

With a lopsided grin, Mitchell waved wearily and Kirk gave a wheeze of laughter as he reached into the hedge and pulled out his boot.

The crowd had already begun breaking up, muttering their disappointment that the fight had come to such a quick and relatively peaceful conclusion. Brandt felt a similar disgust although hers had nothing to do with the end of the fight and everything to do with the masculine posturing that had started it. Standing over Kirk, she clicked her tongue and when she found that didn't provide an adequate outlet for her feelings, she gave him a final, half-hearted whack on the head.

"Ow!" He snatched the purse out of her hand.

"You let Mitchell beat the crap out of you, yet when I hit you with a measly purse, you say Ow."

"He didn't beat the crap out of me." Kirk's mouth curled in a rueful grin as he pulled his boot on. "Did you, Gary?"

"I was trying. And I would have won, if Brandt hadn't barged in. I could have you up on charges, Brat."

"That's right. Assault with a deadly handbag." Kirk pushed to his feet, picked up the purse, and hefted it in his hand. "Ruth, what do you carry in this?"

Eyes shining, Ruth came over and took her purse from him. Pulling out a white handkerchief, she dabbed at Kirk's face and hands, purring, "Jim darling, you were wonderful."

Dumbfounded, Brandt watched as Ruth gushed worshipfully, making all her earlier adoration look like lukewarm appreciation.

"So strong and heroic. I can't tell you how I felt when you rushed to my defense. No one has ever done anything like that for me before. Ever."

Brandt couldn't understand how someone's voice could be both breathy and syrupy but the Cupcake was managing it. And Kirk was eating it up! Never turning from her reverential gaze, Kirk led her away from the hedge until they stood in the pool of light cast by a nearby streetlamp where they stood in silence, hands clasped and eyes shining.

Brandt, too, was silent but not for the same reasons. With the dazed gait of a sleepwalker, she joined Mitchell, who seemed equally flabbergasted.

"This is worse than 'Full Moon Over Tavereth,'" he whispered.

Brandt nodded dumbly as Ruth recommenced her fervent outpouring beneath the golden lightfall.

"Look at you, my poor darling," Ruth said, overflowing with cloying empathy. "You're getting a bruise."

Kirk winced as she touched his cheekbone and Brandt's disbelief soared to new heights.

"Ruth, I'm fine," Kirk said as he opened her hand and pressed a trail of tender kisses from her fingertips, over her palm, and onto the inside of her wrist.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Brandt whispered.

"Shh."

Mitchell gripped her arm and when she looked at his face, she saw the same abstracted expression he'd had when he'd whispered, "You got the Magellan," seconds before the training assignments were posted. She followed his gaze and saw Kirk and the Cupcake locked in an intense kiss.

Ruth pulled back and said in a voice husky with desire, "Jim darling, we need to get you cleaned up." She ran one finger along the rip in his shirt and then rested her palm against his exposed chest. "Take me home."

Brandt sagged against the flitter, staggering under the weight of sudden comprehension.

***

The taxi that carried Kirk and Ruth away skimmed the surface of the bay as if dancing with the moonlit waves and then swooped back toward the city. Brandt watched until it disappeared among the buildings and then, still feeling like she'd taken a hit from a phaser on heavy stun, she turned to Mitchell who appeared to be taking the latest development with aplomb.

"Do you think...?" she asked.

"All signs point to affirmative."

"Will Jim tell you if it happens?"

"No."

"Code of guys, right?"

"No, under the code of guys, he'd almost have to tell me. But Jim's a gentleman and that puts him above the code of guys."

"But you're not?"

"Hell, no." He grinned lecherously. "I've been lying to him about you for weeks. But don't worry--you held out until the third date. According to me, you're the biggest jolt to hit San Francisco since the 2320 quake. Once he dumps the Cupcake, he may want to move on to Brat a la Mode."

"Dumping the Cupcake will be enough, thank you," she said, ignoring the racing beat of her heart.

"Well, we've done all that we can do. Now we just have to wait for the results of the shower test."

"Let me know. And Gary, thanks. You did a good job."

"Actually, I think it was Finnegan who put it over the top. I wonder if Jim will thank him."

Brandt guffawed and said, "I almost wish he would. Can you imagine the look on Finnegan's face if he knew he'd done Jim a favor?"

Mitchell gave a loud peal of laughter and then they both sighed happily.

"I'm still hungry," he said. "What about you?"

"Starved."

"Let's see if we can get that booth back."

The booth had already been taken, as had their drinks, but they found two seats at the bar. After ordering beer and burgers with everything, Mitchell rubbed his jaw where he'd taken a particularly hard punch. Seeing Brandt's look of concern, he fingered his sweater and said, "If I rip my shirt, will you sleep with me?"

"No."

"Good. This is my favorite shirt."

The beers arrived and after clinking glasses, they drank deeply. Then Brandt frowned and brought her fist down on the bar.

"Damn!"

"What?

"I should have figured the Cupcake out much sooner. It was all there. Kirk got a little action after he rescued her on the camping trip. I bet if I'd told her he threw me into the lake, he would have been home free. You said it yourself. He's a hero. I guess Ruth just wanted to see some heroics. I didn't have to go out with you at all."

"And to think I was going to tear my shirt for you."

She chuckled softly. "I didn't mean it that way. Sorry. The next round's on me, all right?"

"Do you have any money?"

"I will have tomorrow. Fig bet me that we couldn't pull it off."

"You know what, Brat? I wouldn't have taken that bet."

"But Gary, you're such a good actor! "

They laughed heartily and drank to their own cleverness. After signaling for another round, Brandt swiveled on the barstool and surveyed the crowd, feeling happier than she had in a long time.

"Hey, Brandt?"

"Yes?"

She turned back and saw Mitchell hunched over his beer. Giving her a sidelong glance, he affected a casual air. "Do you ever talk about me? To Fig? Or anyone?"

"Oh, sure. Code of girls. Every female in my section knows about you."

The offhand facade was instantly replaced with a pleased eagerness. "Yeah? What did you tell them?"

"I told them that you're so cute when you beg."

"Shit."

"Don't worry, I have it on good authority that begging is very attractive to certain women. Aren't you lucky that you've had so much practice?"

***

After parking the flitter in the student lot, Mitchell and Brandt hurried across the commons, propelled by a strong wind at their backs. They ran the last few yards as the sky began pelting them with fat raindrops.

"Woo!" Brandt gasped as they burst into the lobby. "That came up fast."

"Shake it off in the vestibule!" the desk proctor called, pointing at the doorway they'd just come through.

"We're not that wet, Karpinski," Mitchell protested.

"I don't care." The sturdily built blonde stood and leaned over the console with a threatening air. "That annoying little bot just scrubbed the floor and I don't want to listen to it wheezing while it redoes it."

"All right, all right," Mitchell grumbled.

They returned to the vestibule and began shaking out the raindrops and stamping their feet on the mat.

"Tomorrow at breakfast, I want to know everything," Brandt said.

"I can't tell you anything if Jim's there."

"Then let's have a signal."

"All right. If he takes a shower when he gets in tonight, I'll have scrambled eggs. If not, eggs over easy."

"Over easy?" She chuckled and shook her head. "All right."

They went back inside, signed in under Karpinski's dour scrutiny, and stepped into the turbolift. Mitchell grasped the control and directed it to the third floor, north wing. It coughed in response and began moving with a bump.

"Brandt?" Mitchell said over the drone of the machinery.

"Yes?"

"I just wanted to say..."

"What?"

"Well, I'm sorry."

"That's all right. I guess I can't blame you for trying."

"No, not that. I'm sorry that you never gave us a chance."

Blinking rapidly, Brandt gawked at him. He had a strange expression on his face, one that she'd never seen before.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

The lift stopped moving, coughed again, and resumed its journey, now moving laterally. Mitchell did the same, letting the momentum launch him in her direction. Before she could move out of the way, he had pressed his lips to hers. During the half-second in which she was too startled to react, she couldn't help noticing that the kiss was nothing like the aggressive, overwrought liplocks to which she'd been subjected during the past several weeks.

He let go of the control and the lift shuddered to a stop.

"Gary?" Her bewilderment turned his name into a broken whisper.

He made no reply other than another soft kiss, this time lingering over her mouth. She put her hands to his chest but they refused to participate any further in her intended protest and when she felt his arms wrap around her and pull her close, her hands crept up to his shoulders in silent encouragement. As his tongue tickled her lips, she felt the unmistakable frisson of desire and casting her astonishment aside, she closed her eyes and arched against him. Then each breath came a little quicker than the last as his slow kisses brought her achingly alive. She tried to think why she shouldn't flatten herself against him, but that merely led her to imagine what would happen if she did and there was no argument that could hold its own against that unexpectedly overwhelming vision. Betraying herself with a sigh of longing, she pushed up onto her tiptoes, pressed against his thigh, parted her lips to welcome his tongue, and--

"Good night, Brat."

She opened her eyes and looked around. The doors of the lift stood open onto the third floor corridor. She realized he must have taken hold of the control while she was...distracted. He stepped out of the lift and started down the hall without a backward glance. Staring after him, she started to take a step in his direction. Then he turned to her with a hint of a smile, winked, and disappeared around the corner.

"Why, you son of a bitch," she whispered as the doors slid together.

"State your destination," came the patient prompt.

"Fifth floor, south wing," she said as she went to the back of the compartment and closed her hand around the control.

Cough! Bump! Whir!

As the lift swung into motion, she realized two things. In her own way, she was as bad a cocktease as Ruth and, in his own way, Mitchell had just given her a taste of her own medicine.


	8. Chapter 8

After a night filled with dreams of various egg preparations and their deeper meanings, Brandt was first in line at the mess hall. She optimistically slid three eggs over easy onto her plate and selected a table that allowed a view of the entrance. Despite eating with deliberate slowness, she was still alone when her plate was empty so she went back through the line and got two chocolate-covered doughnuts. Finally, as she was biting into the second one, Kirk joined her and tucked into a tall stack of pancakes.

"Where's Mitchell?" she asked.

"The line for eggs is very long this morning."

Nibbling at her doughnut to make it last until Mitchell's arrival, she studied Kirk. He appeared to be in a sunny mood and he was heartily plowing through the pancakes, which could mean any number of things. After several minutes of agonizing frustration that nearly had her bouncing in her seat, Mitchell arrived. When he set his tray on the table, her eyes almost popped out.

Shooting daggers at Mitchell, she waited until Kirk went back for a second helping of bacon and then blurted, "Poached? That's not in the code! What the hell does poached mean?"

"It means the results of the shower test were inconclusive."

"How can that be? He either took a shower or he didn't."

"He took a shower."

"No..." Her voice trailed off in a disappointed lament.

"Hold on. He took it when he got in at 0600 so I'm not sure what it was. It could have just been his morning shower."

Brandt brightened optimistically. "But he stayed out all night."

"Yes, but that doesn't mean--"

"I know it doesn't mean--"

"But it could mean--"

"Yes, it could mean..."

They retreated into a thoughtful silence. Finally, Brandt folded her hands, rested her chin on them and asked, "How long was the shower?"

Mitchell's face lit slowly with dawning comprehension. "Short."

"How short? Shorter than the showers that were just a camouflage for other activity?"

"Definitely."

"So he was just getting ready for the day."

Mitchell nodded in happy agreement.

"Because he'd already finished up for the night."

Their analysis completed, they shared their moment of victory in a quick handclasp.

When Kirk returned, he looked from one face-breaking grin to the other and said, "Did you kiss and make up? And I missed it?"

"I don't think you missed a thing," Brandt smirked.

"Good," Kirk said. "I'm glad you're not upset about last night."

"Couldn't be happier, kid!" Mitchell said, slapping Kirk on the back and swiping a slice of bacon.

***

Late that afternoon, the results of the shower test were confirmed by none other than the Cupcake herself. Seated at a small table in the backmost corner of the Keen Bean, Ruth ignored her java with double lime in favor of enthusiastic gushing.

"Oh, Suzanne, thank you so much for all your advice. You were right about everything. Jim was so sweet and gentle and loving. And passionate !" She shivered as she drew out the word. "I never ever would have dreamed it would be so wonderful ! But it was !" Then she gave a heartfelt sigh and added, "All three times."

Brandt barely managed to croak out her response. "All--three--times?"

"Yes!" she sighed, staring dreamily into the distance. Then, fixing Brandt with a regretful gaze, she added, "And we would have gone again but he had an early class."

No wonder he was pounding down all those pancakes, Brandt thought.

"But Suzanne?"

The Cupcake's alabaster brow was furrowed with concern.

"Yes?" Brandt replied carefully, suddenly afraid she was going to hear that they hadn't used any protection.

"He didn't cry." Ruth sounded disappointed and almost hurt.

Relieved that she'd heard the worst of it, Brandt summoned a crisp explanation.

"Ruth, I don't think they all cry."

"But you said Stephen did."

"True, but, uh, I think Jim's made of sterner stuff." Seeing the Cupcake still pouting, she decided to wrap it up with a soothing, "I'm sure he wanted to."

God knows she did.

***

With less than an hour left in their duty shift, Mitchell twisted until his back gave a satisfying pop.

"Let's break," he said as he sat back against the interior wall of the sludge tank.

Kirk set down the spray canister and joined him. Noticing the sick array of colors on Mitchell's jaw, he said, "I hope it's the faceplate making that bruise look so bad."

"Does it look like someone mixed overripe plums into lime gelatin?"

"Yes."

"Then you better hope it's the faceplate because yours looks just as bad."

Kirk chuckled and said, "Maybe it's just as well I'm not seeing Ruth tonight."

"Was she upset when you had to cancel your date?"

"She wasn't happy about it but I think she understood after I explained how the commandant feels about street fights."

"Gentlemen," Mitchell intoned in a stern basso profundo, "such behavior does not reflect well on you or the Academy."

"Please, I don't want to hear it again. But speaking of fights, what happened with you and Brandt?"

"Me and--? Oh, that's over."

Kirk chuckled, then chortled, and then rocked with laughter.

"What's so funny?" Mitchell asked. "What? What are you laughing at?"

Finally laughed out, Kirk responded, "You and Brandt!"

"What about us?"

"Listen, I don't want to be crude about this but I know what was going on."

"What do you mean?"

"All those double dates with Ruth and me. I know what you were up to."

"Kid, I don't know what you're talking about."

"You and Brandt? Come on."

Mitchell chuckled modestly. "Yeah, well... What gave us away?"

"I figured it out last night when I landed in the hedge. I couldn't understand how I ended up fighting you until I realized that you had set the whole thing up so I could look good in front of Ruth. But you should have let me slug Finnegan."

"I'll remember that next time."

"And this morning at breakfast, you and Brandt were so full of yourselves. You seemed happier than I was." Kirk leaned back against the wall of the tank and laughed full out. "When I think of the two of you in the front seat... I've got to hand it to you, Gary. It can't have been easy to talk the Brat into going along with it."

"Uh, no, it wasn't."

"I had no idea you were such a good actor. You were actually believable but..."

"But what?"

"Well...Brandt didn't seem to have much interest at all."

"That's because she's a lesbian."

"No! You're kidding!"

Mitchell shrugged. "She passed up a chance with me."

***

The rest of the term went by quickly and Brandt was kept so busy studying for finals and pushing the first-year middies through the warp simulations that she had time for little else. Still, there were a few nights that she lay awake, gleefully reminding herself that the new semester would doubtless bring an end to the Cupcake's run. She knew that Kirk had invited Ruth to Iowa for the holidays but she had met Mrs. Kirk the previous spring and was counting on that sensible, intelligent woman to make her son see things clearly. And if not, he was slated for a training cruise aboard the USS Hakluyt starting December 30. Surely after a few weeks' separation, he would return to San Francisco ready to ring in the new and ring out the Ruth.

But even so, Brandt was surprised that, upon his return from the Hakluyt, the first thing he did was seek her out for another bathroom conference.

"I need a female opinion," he explained, raising the lid on small box. "Look at this."

He lifted a small chunk of metal out of the box and placed it in Brandt's hand.

"It's from the hull of the Hakluyt," he explained, unable to conceal his pride. "The chief engineer took me along to help with some repairs. I was actually outside the ship, Brandt, floating in space! This little bit flew off and I caught it. What do you think?"

The impromptu souvenir was no bigger than the tip of her finger. It curved in on itself and the scarring left by an old phaser hit traced the graceful contour of its otherwise smooth face. The black edges where it had broken away added an acute depth to its silvery luster, as if its hard brightness had been stripped to its purest essence.

"It's beautiful," she breathed.

"I thought I'd have it made into a necklace for Ruth. Do you think she'll like it?"

Brandt rolled the chip between her thumb and fingers for several moments before letting it tumble down into her palm, where it caught the light and glimmered with fiery gold and coldest blue. After one last admiring gaze, she returned it to Kirk, giving his hand a quick squeeze as she closed it around the twisted scrap of titanium.

"If she doesn't, she's not the girl for you, is she?"

***

"This is it!" she exulted to Fig after Kirk had departed. "The Cupcake will turn her pert little nose up at it! 'But Jim darling, what would I want with a hunk of old metal?'"

She grabbed a brassiere out of the pile of laundry Fig was folding, twirled it over her head and flung it across the room.

"Bye bye, Cupcake!" she crowed.

With a malicious cackle, she dug a bunch of grapes out of the snack stash, flopped down on her bunk, and began greedily consuming them.

Retrieving her bra from where it dangled off her new holographic calendar, Fig said, "Maybe then he'll give the necklace to you."

Brandt sat up and a moment of silent but eloquent communication passed between them.

"At least I would appreciate it," Brandt said evenly.

"You'd have to think of a very special way to thank him for a gift like that. Gosh, that would be tough. Hmmm, what could it be?" She broke off a grape from the bunch Brandt was holding and said, "How about this?" Hips swinging, she sauntered across the room and draped herself over the desk in a sultry pose. "C'mere, baby, mama's been saving it up for you."

Then she leaned back, lifted her hand in a high, graceful arc, and dropped the grape into her mouth.

"I don't think so," Brandt laughed.

"No? Humpy goes for it every time."

"You actually know someone named Humpy?"

"Yes."

"And you're sleeping with him?"

"How do you think he got that name?"

***

Unfortunately, the Cupcake proved quite savvy where gifts were concerned, as Brandt learned three days later in the Keen Bean.

"I'm not really sure what to think about it," Ruth said, frowning as she held the necklace up. "I mean it's not a stone, not even a semi-precious one. But Jim seemed awfully excited about it so I told him it was beautiful."

Brandt nodded sadly, watching the shining pendant and thinking that such a proud adventurer deserved a better resting place at journey's end.

"I guess I better wear it tonight," Ruth sighed, putting it on and tucking it under her collar. "Jim's godparents are in town and they're taking us out to dinner."

"Oh," Brandt said dully.

"Has Jim ever mentioned them to you? Because I keep forgetting their name and I hate to ask him again. They're in Starfleet and it's a funny name. January or September or--"

"April?" Brandt's voice was dark with apprehension.

"Yes! That's it!"

"Captain Robert April is Jim's godfather?"

"Yes. I think his wife's name is Sally."

"Sarah. She's a doctor."

"Yes! Oh, thank you, Suzanne! You're a lifesaver! Robert and Sarah. I have to remember that. Suzanne? Suzanne, where are you going?"

"I have to get back to school," she said curtly. "I'm on duty in the lab tonight."

She left the Keen Bean, almost choking on her anger over the Cupcake's ignorance of the people and things that had shaped Kirk's life.

***

"What does he see in her?" Brandt wailed as she hurled the Simulations Manual at her bunk.

At the desk, Fig slammed down her padd and said, "I don't know and if you ask me that one more time, I won't be responsible for my actions."

"Fig, he's giving her jewelry! He's introducing her to his family! And she thinks Captain April is just some guy with a funny last name!"

"Most of the galaxy doesn't know who Captain April is. He's a hero to you and me but--"

"He's important to Jim, too, and not just because he's his godfather. And if she's in love with him, she should know that. I bet he knows who her favorite dress designer is."

"Aren't you late for the lab?"

"Aren't you worried about this?"

"No, I'm not worried about Kirk or his misbegotten romance. But I am worried about you. It was funny at first but now you're obsessed."

"I know but I can't stop. It's like one of those awful questing sims. Every time I think I've won, an evil sorcerer shows up and grabs my bag of gold."

"I hate those games. You can't win. They're like the Kobayashi Maru. And I think I'm going to hate that, too."

"That's what Ruth is! She's the ultimate disaster scenario of girlfriends."

"You know," Fig said, cocking her head thoughtfully, "they say you always hate your own Kobayashi Maru but it's wonderful to see how upset everyone else is over theirs."

An epiphanic look lit Brandt's face as she slowly wagged a finger in Fig's direction.

"Yesss," she hissed. "Maybe it's time for somebody else to sit in the center seat."

***

Two nights later, Brandt stood in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to decide just how far she should go with the makeup. Having rejected all of the products she'd gotten from Ruth--with the exception of the moisturizer, which she'd found was excellent--she'd used Fig's mascara and blusher. Now she stared at the tube of lipstick. The name of the shade--Knock 'Em Dead Red--was encouraging but the color itself gave her pause. Still, she felt she needed something to complete the picture so she applied it as sparingly as possible and stepped back to study the effect.

Just as she'd feared. She looked like a vampire who'd just finished feeding. She grabbed a tissue and wiped it off. To her delight, it left her lips a moderate color that was more reminiscent of berries than blood.

She ran her fingers through her hair and decided that it was styled just enough to be different yet still familiar. She turned to the doorway and examined herself in the full-length mirror Fig had hung there. The blue-green of her dress brought out her eyes and its soft fabric draped teasingly around her body.

She swayed gently and was admiring the way the skirt moved when a sharp pounding from the other side of the door made her jump.

"Brat, are you in or out? You've missed three hands!" Mitchell's voice thundered through the door.

"I told you I'm not playing tonight!"

"Just because you're broke doesn't mean you have to hide in the head!" Kirk's voice was slightly more muffled than Mitchell's, as was Durant's when he called, "Yeah, someone might want to use it!"

"I'm not hiding! And I'm not playing because--" She hit the control to open the door and sashayed into the room. "I have a date."

After a stunned beat, the three men at the makeshift card table burst into an appreciative chorus of whistles and catcalls. Looking up from her seat between Kirk and Durant, Fig stopped dealing long enough to give her roommate a sly wink of approval.

"Why didn't you dress like that when we were going out?" Mitchell asked.

"You never took me dancing."

"You said the dance floor at Freddie's was too small and too sticky."

"We're not going to Freddie's."

"Who's 'we?'" Durant asked just as the door chime sounded.

Silently blessing Durant for his timing, she opened the door and said, "Hello, Danny."

Finnegan's civvies were elegant and sharp, and she realized with some surprise that he was actually attractive. She hadn't considered that before. It had been enough that he was Finnegan.

He took her hands and gave her a slow, admiring once-over.

"Darlin', I'm so glad you told me not to bring flowers because I would have only felt sorry for them having to compete with such loveliness."

He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the cheek. Out of the corner of her eye, Brandt saw three gaping faces, one of which exhibited all the dynamics of a volcano about to blow. She wished she dared stay long enough to push those buttons a little more but she wasn't sure how far she trusted Finnegan's promise to not harass anyone while he was out with her.

"We'd better go," she said, pulling her coat off a hook.

"I'm sorry we have to rush off," he said to the poker players as he helped Brandt with her coat, "but we don't want to lose our table at the Top of the Mark IV."

"The Mark IV?" Fig echoed. "Impressive."

Brandt made a mental note to buy Fig a big box of candy.

"I'd love to stay and watch how this comes out," Finnegan said, sidling over to the table. "Even you shouldn't be able to screw up a royal flush, Jimmy."

Tossing down his cards, Kirk rose as Brandt grabbed Finnegan's arm and pulled him out the door. As it closed behind them, she said, "Just a minute," and bent to adjust the strap on her shoe, which put her ear close enough to the door to hear the agitated voices from within.

"She's going out with Finnegan?" from Mitchell.

"Is she crazy?" from Durant.

And most satisfying of all, an appalled "What could she possibly see in him?" from Kirk.

Rising and slipping her hand into Finnegan's, she said, "I hear the dance floor at the Mark IV is the best in town."

"You'll love it," he replied. "And by the way, my father gave me his alumni tickets for the football game next weekend. Front row, fifty-yard line, if you'd care to join me."

"That sounds great."

And it will sound even better when I drop that bit of news on JT, she thought.

***

For the next two months, she reveled in Kirk's struggle to conceal his disgust as she mercilessly mentioned Danny at every opportunity. Unfortunately, she had to exaggerate her enjoyment of his company because she'd learned to her great shock and dismay that his respect for girls went well beyond her own expectations. Although unhappy at finding herself high atop the pedestal of chastity, she kept quiet and even congratulated herself on her discreet handling of the situation. That is, until one night, Fig's voice exploded out of the darkness.

"For god's sake, will you just take a shower like the guys do?"

The next morning, Fig pointed out that she was cutting off something other than her nose to spite something other than her face, a fact that was not news to Brandt. In truth, she was becoming eager to end her association with Finnegan and would already have done so if not for the fact that Kirk's romance with the Cupcake continued to flourish.

Brandt was pondering Fig's observation when she walked into the weight room and saw Kirk sitting on a bench, straining through a series of lat pull-downs. She went to a machine next to him and requested fifty pounds for overhead tricep extensions. As the machine reconfigured itself, she greeted Kirk who grunted in response. Gripping the handles, she leaned away from the machine and began pressing her arms forward.

She was on her seventh rep when Kirk released the bar and let his weights drop into their cradle with a harsh clank.

"All right, what's with you and Finnegan?" he demanded.

"That's a very personal question, JT."

She kept her voice neutral but inside she was rejoicing that his aggravation had grown to the point of confrontation. Smothering a smile, she watched his tense movements as he crossed the room and yanked a towel off the shelf. After wiping the sweat from his face, he returned to the bench, sat down and watched the motion of the cables as she continued her set.

Finally, he said, "You're right. I was out of line with that. I apologize."

She nodded. "As long as you've started, though, you might as well say whatever it is you need to say."

She did three more reps before he responded.

"We're friends, right?" he asked quietly. "We should be able to be honest with each other."

"True."

"Well, then." He took a deep breath. "Brandt, you're too good to throw yourself away on someone who gives every indication of taking up permanent residence in the sludge tanks."

She'd been planning to twist the knife a little with a lie about Finnegan looking at her as if she'd hung the moon but the honest concern under his intemperate remark brought her up short. Wordlessly, she finished her reps and Kirk left as she was resetting the machine for cable flies.

***

Two days later, Kirk vandalized Finnegan's Easter candy and ended up in the infirmary throwing up the evidence. Brandt decided that although revenge was sweet, it wasn't worth sending someone into marshmallow-sugar shock and she called it quits with Finnegan.

Sadly, Kirk's newfound distaste for sweets didn't extend to the Cupcake and, as spring gave way to summer, she showed no signs of going stale. Determined not to be drawn into yet another ill-fated attempt to pry them apart, Brandt began dating a burly life sciences major who truly did think she hung the moon and respected her only as much as she wanted him to.

***

TWO YEARS LATER

Three months short of graduation, Kirk announced his engagement to Ruth. Brandt wished him the best of luck, dismally aware that she sounded almost too sincere. Ruth began planning a June wedding in the Academy chapel and the only comfort Brandt found in the entire situation was the fact that, over time, the Cupcake had let their friendship drop, removing the danger of being drafted as a bridesmaid.

Then, one night in early April, Mitchell burst in on Kirk as he was completing the final edits to his analysis of the Battle of Cheron.

"Jim, you're not going to believe what just happened!" Having run from the Sim Building, he was panting for air and could barely get the words out.

"You finally got through Phase I of the tactical exercise?" Kirk asked dryly.

"I'll do it later. Listen to me. I was in the main simulator. The sensor array was acting up so I figured I'd swap boards with the one down the hall. But when I got there, it was locked. So I went into the observation room to release it and guess what I saw?"

"What?"

"Brandt and Ramirez. And they weren't swapping boards."

Kirk turned back to his padd. "Gary, I don't want to hear this."

"Yes, you do, because you're not going to believe what they were doing."

"I said I don't want to--"

"He was spanking her."

Kirk's head came up with ominous deliberation.

"What."

"Really spanking her, not just a playful slap on the ass. He had her across his knee and he was really giving it to her."

"Why, that big--"

Kirk was on his feet and halfway to the door when Mitchell stopped him.

"Jim, she was enjoying it."

"No."

"I swear. I could see her face. I could hear her. She loved it. She was wiggling around and--"

"Gary, stop. I don't want to know."

"There's not much more to tell. Just when it was getting really interesting, Commander Massoud paged me. He saw I was signed into the simulator and wanted to know why it was empty. I had to do some pretty fast talking to keep him from checking out the one Brandt was in."

Kirk returned to the desk, rubbing his chin pensively.

"I don't believe it," he murmured. "The Brat's into spanking?"

"I guess that nickname is more appropriate than we thought."

"Are you sure she was actually letting him? Ramirez is huge. He could hurt her."

"Jim, believe me, if I thought she wanted help, I would have done something. But I think if I'd tried to stop it, I'd be the one in danger of being hurt. By her."

"Unbelievable."

Mitchell gleefully rubbed his hands together.

"I think we should get her a paddle for her birthday."

***

The next morning, Kirk caught himself staring at Brandt for the third time since she'd joined him and Mitchell at a window table. This time, however, he didn't look away quite quickly enough and she snapped, "What?"

"Huh?"

"You're looking at me funny."

"Oh. Sorry."

"What's with you?"

"Nothing."

Deliberately keeping his eyes on his plate, he took a mouthful of scrambled eggs that had grown cold while he was distracted.

"So..." Mitchell smiled sweetly. "How are things with Ramirez?"

Brandt shrugged. "Fine."

"He's leaving on his final training cruise soon, isn't he?"

"He left this morning."

"Oh. I imagine you gave him a big send-off last night."

"Mitchell, what is all this?"

"Nothing. I'm just happy for you, Brat. The two of you seem to be so...compatible."

"We're all right," she said, casting a careful glance from Mitchell to Kirk, who once again caught himself gawking in her direction.

She finally picked up her tray and said, "See you in class," with undisguised bewilderment.

Both men's eyes followed the movement of her backside as she made her way to the trash station. When she bent over to retrieve a dropped napkin, Mitchell looked at Kirk and saw parted lips and unblinking eyes.

"Just makes your hand itch, doesn't it?" he whispered.

Pulling himself together, Kirk snapped, "No."

But that afternoon, he found himself squirming uncomfortably during Commander Stokes' lecture on the rules and conventions of disciplinary action.

***

Four days later, Kirk abruptly announced that his engagement to Ruth was off. He refused to say anything more about it, and for two weeks, Brandt waited for the inevitable reconciliation, hardly daring hope that the break-up was final. Then, on her way back to the Academy after sending a package off to her brother, she ran into Ruth, who invited her into the Keen Bean for a banana espresso. To Brandt's delight, the cafe had expanded its menu to include beverages other than coffee, so she ordered a hot chocolate italiano.

Fishing the slivers of garlic out of her mug, she looked across the table and saw Ruth absently breaking her stir stick into tiny segments. Taking the bull by the horns, Brandt asked, "What happened between you and Jim?"

Ruth shook her head and said, "I can't talk about it. It's too awful."

"Did you have a fight?"

"No. Well, sort of. It's just...just..." Ruth drew a steadying breath. "Well, I'm just glad I found out the truth about him before it was too late."

"The truth? What did you find out?"

Ruth chewed her lip fretfully for several moments. Then, half rising from her seat, she leaned across the table and hissed, "Jim Kirk is a filthy, disgusting pervert."

And no matter how Brandt pressed her for details, she refused to elaborate further.


End file.
